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serpenlupus · 2 months

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About Wyll and his horns

Let's say I was writing a part of my Tav's story with Wyll directly connected to the dialogue he has during the tiefling party, and while struggling with this bit, I've realized there's quite a few misconceptions floating around. I felt compelled to add information to the table that might clear them, so here we go.

First, what exactly happens to Wyll when he disobeys Mizora in act one? Well, he doesn't get turned into a devil, he certainly doesn't get turned into a tiefling, he's not a half fiend, not a demon, none of that. Wyll stays human, but he has horns and red eyes (and other features we can't see on his model as of now).

(Everyone has their race listed, Wyll's remains "Human")

This is because when a warlock fails to uphold some part of their contract they can suffer a certain number of consequences, Wylls is “The character grows horns, a tail, or some other devilish features that can't be removed by any means short of divine intervention. As long as these marks persist the character detects as a fiend when subjected to Detect Evil and Good spells or similar magic.” ( from Baldur's Gate: Descent into Avernus, page 214)

And I’ve come across some people that think it wasn’t so bad of a punishment, that he was being racist towards the tieflings, or just not being justified in being upset after having his body forcibly changed against his will. I think they are missunderstanding just how insidious Mizora’s actions were, and here I just want to give some context to maybe bring a better understanding to the situation. Your conclusions are up to you.

Gonna start by using a not exact analogy, but I think it’s going to make the explanation easier. Stick with me for a minute.

Remember Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean? He had a branded “P” on his arm that marked him as a pirate. A murderer, robber, criminal, etc. in the eyes of the society he was a part of. What did Jack do to earn the branding? (if you don’t know this I suggest you look up the “people aren’t cargo mate” scene) He refused to transport slaves and later freed them, and Beckett had him marked as punishment.

Then, in the first movie, he saves Elizabeth, a woman he didn’t know, from drowning. Right after however, when Norrington sees he has a branded “P”, he’s like “alright, off to jail with you, and then hanging”, no other option crosses his mind. Again, Jack doesn’t know Elizabeth, isn’t indicated to think he is going to be rewarded for helping her, he just sees a drowning person, sees that no one else is going to help, and chooses to save them. That is a pretty selfless/good aligned thing to do, for no other reason that he was the one able to do it, yet the branding in his arm overrides any good action he could ever do, marking him as a criminal for execution and no further thought.

In a way, that’s what Mizora did to Wyll; she forever visibly branded him as someone that has made deals with devils, and that in the world of DnD is a VERY BAD THING. Personally I really like the mod that gives him more devilish features, but at the same time I think there was something clever about choosing to leave him looking more human. He can’t be confused with a tiefling, he doesn’t have the ears, the claws, the tail, all those features that characterize them. He looks kind of uncanny, and that would be like a red flag for anyone in that world. (Beyond the already existing hate for tieflings that I’m not gonna tackle on here because it’s a complicated thing that deserves its own post). And Wyll wants to do good, he wants to help people, to be a positive force in the world so, so badly. This dude got abducted by a nautiloid, got tadpole’d, and the first thing he did right after that was come across the Tiefling refugees and be like “Oh you need help? No worries let me teach you self defense. Oh you being attacked by goblins? Let me blast them real quick”. His way of saying fuck you to all the awful things that have happened to him is being aggressively good and kind. Mizora knows this very well, wants to see him suffer for her amusement, wants to remind him he can't escape her claws, so her choice of punishment was to forever taint his future interactions with mistrust and suspicion. Some people can go real fast from “oh thank God they saved me” to “oh no, are they gonna rob me, are they trying to trick me, are they in cahoots with the ones that attacked me first?” just because of outward appearances. Especially in DnD world. And that deserves its own conversation, but we're focusing on Wyll here.

(Mizora, when I catch you Mizora)

“Well, maybe he shouldn’t have made a deal in the first plac- - “ He was seventeen, alone, preyed upon by Mizora and put in an impossible situation. Please PAY ATTENTION to the story you’re witnesing.

Anyway.

About the tieflings. I know it’s easy to think his words can be derisive towards them, but it’s less about the horns and more about his body being changed against his will. Imagine instead that he got half his face burned, or something that disfigured him. I think his feelings at the moment were closer to that, and yeah they are pretty insensitive words to say to someone with a similar condition (horns or disfiguration), but when feelings are fresh and raw like that it’s easy to say insensitive things. Not saying it was ok for him to say those things, but ther was no malice in his words. I’ve also seen some people share that they think Mizora wanted to change him more to make him unrecognizable to his original self, the Wyll Ravenguard kid, and I think there is some truth to that too. She wants to make sure that Wyll remembers that he belongs to her, there's no question to that.

(MIZORA, WHEN I CATCH YOU MIZORA)

Whether the Tieflings refugees would feel unsettled by Wyll or not? Yes. In a way, they would. From reasons aside from the ones I explained above, remember that these specific tieflings come from Elturel. If you didn’t pass the History check or don’t remember, Elturel is a city that was literally ripped from the land and dragged to Avernus, First layer of hell (it left a hole on the ground and everything) because their mayor made a deal with the Archdevil Zariel some decades back in the timeline. He sold the souls of all its citizens and the city itself.

This was probably one of the worst times of their lives. Some even got captured and forced to participate in the blood War, like Dammon as a mechanic. And after Elturel got returned to the surface, the tieflings lost their homes because they reminded the other citizens of the literal Hell they’d just gone through, and they kicked them out. And remember, they met and saw Wyll as a human, and then saw him with horns. It’s not unreasonable to think that by looking at him they would be reminded of all the events that led them to the awful situation they’re in. Because of someone that was making deals with devils, just like Wyll. Even if his situation is completely different. And Wyll knows that, that’s why he tells you the tieflings are unsettled by him and chooses to stay away during the party.

It was never just about the horns.

And I know Wyll calls himself a devil but I think it’s because it’s the closest thing he looks as; devils are a whole different race with their own intricacies, although humans can be turned into devils ONCE their souls go to Avernus and they start climbing the power hierarchy there (Mizora and Raphael are cambions/ half-devils btw, which is a different thing, there are plenty of videos exploring those details more in depth).

Do I think Larian should have made some of this information clearer/easier to access? Maybe? but to be fair, it's a game focused and dedicated to a crowd that was already somewhat familiar with the source material, that blew up waay out of what they originally expected to reach. Hopefully they’ll add some clarifications like they did to other quests.

Anyway these are my two cents to the conversation, have a nice day, and don't hesitate to add your two cents if you feel like it!

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harmlessghosty · 1 month

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“Take This One”

Ais helps you after you’re terribly wounded by a Soulless.

Tags for blood, mostly, but pretty much just hurt/comfort. 1800 words.

—

You didn’t mean to be outside after sunset. It just happened that you were hungry for a late night snack and had a few extra coins, and the waft of cinnamon rolls wouldn’t leave your room at the Wet Wick. After all that you’d been through, wasn’t it fair that you deserved something a little more delicious than rotten nuts or unleavened bread from the bar?

Well, that had been, at minimum, a terrible idea.

Any stall open at midnight on a weekday wouldn’t normally be a red flag, but you should have gone back to your room when you noticed the vendor’s eyes shifting back and forth as they served your snack. Quickly, after you paid, they abandoned their post before you could get five steps back down the road.

For good reason, you now realized, lying on your back in an alleyway with a Soulless staring you down from the roof of the Wet Wick.

There was no time to take in their appearance or their snarl before they descended, soaring in an arc until they launched at your weak little body. Claws gnashed at your legs, at your arms, at your chest.

As swiftly as they attacked, pain welled with a hot rush of liquid over your clothes.

And just as quickly as it happened, it disappeared with a screech of a whine. Through your half-closed eyes, you swore you caught sight of a glowing red light shining on the alley walls, but maybe that was simply Death coming for you. Your heavy body shifted an inch before demanding that you stop moving by shooting a wave of agony up your side.

Footsteps approached, and someone squatted by your side. Gasping and gritting your bloodstained teeth, you peered up at the newcomer and, recognizing him, glared.

He smiled, his bright crimson eyes practically the only light in the alley. “Got yourself in a mess, huh?” he asked with a smirk.

“A-Ais…” you managed before coughing up what felt like a pint of blood.

“Took care of that Soulless for you. Sent it back to the Seaspring for a time out,” he said, far too calm given the situation. Maybe, since it was so dark, he didn’t notice the pooling blood beneath your body. “What’s up? Cat got your tongue?”

“I-I…”

“C’mon. Get up, little sparrow.”

“I…I can’t,” you breathed, trying your hardest to sit up on your elbows. A shard of pain exploded through your chest and dropped you back to the icy concrete with a wail.

Finally, his gaze wandered from your stained face down your chest, where his eyes widened. He reached out a hand and touched the blood beneath you. “Fresh,” he mumbled. Then, his gaze shot back up to yours. “Sparrow. Show me where it hurts.”

You lifted your left arm, practically the only thing that could move without excruciating pain, and motioned to your right side before your body gave into exhaustion again.

“It got you, huh?” he asked, eyes darkening. “Let me see.”

Without waiting for permission, Ais grabbed at your clothes and tore the fabric hole around your wound further apart, ignoring your scream of agony at the sudden movement. For a moment, he stared, silently absorbing the new information.

Then, he released your clothes and bundled them around your side. “Looks superficial,” he said. “You can wait until morning to see Kuras if you want, but I wouldn’t risk it.”

“B-but—“ You gritted your teeth, trying again to pull yourself up and failing even worse than the last time. Your head clacked onto the ground with a thud, your muscles destroyed by the blood loss and the pain.

“What’s your plan now? Doubt you can walk to the clinic in this state.”

“I-I’m f-f-fine,” you growled, stubborn but staring at the moonlit sky with a yearning to close your eyes until the pain disappeared. Maybe if you let yourself sleep, it would all go away.

Your eyes slipped shut, and your body grew a little colder as it began to tremble.

“Wake up, sparrow.”

Annoyed, your eyes opened, finding Ais a bit closer and a bit more concerned.

“At this rate, you’re gonna die out here if you don’t get to Kuras quick,” he said, stern.

Again, without asking, he grabbed the collar of your overcoat and yanked you upward so that you sat on the ground. With a bloodcurdling scream, you clutched his forearm with so much strength that your nails dug slices into the flesh.

“Easy now.” His voice was quiet and soothing, like an angel getting ready to carry you into the heavens. “I’m gonna lift you up, all right?”

“Lift…me?” you asked, eyes closing again as you leaned heavily against his chest. “Ais…I’m so…tired…”

“Hey. Stay awake, dumbass,” he ordered, sliding his thick arms beneath you and hauling you into him as he stood. Another shock of pain seared through your body, stirring you awake and bringing tears to your swollen eyes. A sudden cough sputtered spit and blood onto Ais’ collar, but he neither noticed nor cared.

Silently, he adjusted you in his arms with a couple of bounces, carrying you bridal style with your body held firmly against his chest. With each step through Eridia, he kept you in place as best as he could. The walk was long and arduous; every time you thought your eyes could close and you could relax, Ais squeezed your arm until it would clearly bruise or puffed a sharp breath of air in your face.

After what felt like hours, your heavy eyelids lowered, giving you just enough sight to see the sign for Kuras’ clinic. Ais pushed through the crowd and cut the line until he kicked open the door, breaking the lock.

Despite the darkness encroaching your sight, your hearing continued to work well. “Kuras. Take this one next.”

The doctor was quiet for a few seconds before he sighed. “This one again,” he mumbled, and a wheeled chair slid over the tile floor. “Put them on the bed. I’ll see what I can do.”

Your mind followed dreamily. What about the other patients? Was Kuras on a break? Did Ais know that?

A gentle shifting placed you on a cloud, the pain now so familiar that you hardly acknowledged it—or maybe you were so delirious from blood loss that it didn’t register anymore.

“You can save them, right?” Ais asked, the smallest note of worry in his low voice. He spoke softly as though making sure you couldn’t hear.

Kuras chuckled and seemingly waved Ais away, because the warm arms that had enveloped you disappeared. The door opened and closed, and there you were, alone with the doctor.

Within minutes of the silence, your vision faded into a deep and soothing sleep.

When you woke later, you peered around the white room with exhaustion. Your stiff neck cracked as you looked from side to side. Sure enough, this was the same room you woke up in when you first arrived in Eridia. No one was with you, and you were far too tired to move. With nothing else to do, you closed your eyes again.

After some time, the door opened and closed, the lock clicking, which you found unusual.

“You awake?”

The familiar voice made you cringe. How humiliating that Ais had to save your life by carrying you to Kuras. All that energy expended just to help you survive an idiotic decision.

“Your nose is twitching. Cute,” he laughed, dragging over a chair to sit by the bedside. “Brought you something, but you need to look at me first.”

Taking in a deep breath and feeling the ache of stitches pulling at your side, you opened your eyes and turned your head. There, only a foot away, sat Ais with a mischievous smile plastered on his too-handsome face.

He held up a brown paper bag. “Cinnamon roll and a pint of milk.”

Your brow furrowed in your confusion. “H-huh?”

“What, did you want the bloody one instead?” he teased. “Fed that one to Princess. She said thanks for the snack.”

Without waiting, he pulled out the pastry and held it firmly to your lips, giving you no room to speak without him shoving it down your throat. Even though your tongue was dry, saliva pooled in your mouth at the scent of sugar and warm dough. The bite was perfect—nothing less.

Ais laughed, pulling away the bun after you took your bite and holding a straw to your lips next. “You’re such a kid,” he said, narrowing his eyes with amusement. “One night, you’re hiding with me in a cramped alley, and the next, you’re bleeding out over a mashed cinnamon bun. Pretty stupid, if you ask me.”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. “Didn’t ask you for your opinion.”

“Didn’t give my opinion. Just stated facts.” He shrugged with that bastard smile. “Looks like Kuras fixed you up pretty good. How do you feel?”

“Dizzy.”

“Mm. He must’ve given you the good stuff. That was a hell of a wound.”

“You said it was superficial!” you argued, heat from frustration rising into your cheeks.

Again, he shrugged. “Thought it’d be better if you weren’t freaking out while I got you to the hospital.”

With all of your strength, you snatched the rest of the pastry from his hand and shoved it into your mouth. Now being in debt to him, you didn’t want to mouth off.

“It’s all yours,” he said calmly, leaning his elbows on the bed and sitting with his face much closer. “So? Anything to say after what happened?”

You choked on the food. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” He shot you a shit-eating grin.

Groaning, you chased the dry snack with a gulp of milk before averting your eyes to your blanketed feet. “Thanks,” you mumbled, closing your eyes in embarrassment. “Quit looking at me like that now.”

“Aww. But you’re cute when you’re shy.”

You ignored the tease in favor of another bite of the cinnamon roll. “And thanks for the meal too.”

“Figured you’d be hungry since you’ve been out cold for a week,” he said.

“What?” you exclaimed, jolting to attention so suddenly that your stitches yanked and sent sparks behind your vision.

Ais laughed and leaned back into his chair. “Just kidding. It was overnight. It’s only noon.”

Sighing, you collapsed onto the pillow and groaned, an arm falling over your eyes before you crossed them over your chest. “Why are you such an asshole?”

“You wouldn’t care about me if I wasn’t one,” he countered, standing slowly.

And before you could react, the gentle, unmistakable touch of lips pressed to the top of your head.

“See you later, sparrow.”

The door unlocked, and Ais left with a confident stride and the last word.

#tw blood #x reader #touchstarved game #touchstarved ais #Ais #ghostywrites

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clangenrising · 7 months

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Month 8 - Leaffall

Russetfrond carried a pair of birds in his jaws as he strolled beside Goldenstar who led the way back to camp, carrying her own catch, a particularly fat mouse she had snagged last minute. He looked idly over swaying grass, pressing his ears back as they walked against the chilly Leaffall breeze, and let her chatter. It was a familiar old feeling; her talking as if silence was her enemy, him responding here and there. It was nice.

As they got closer to camp, talk turned to Oddstripe’s litter.

“I’m still trying to figure out exactly who I want to mentor the kits,” she said. “It’ll be my first apprentice ceremony as leader and I wanna make sure I do it right.”

“Mm,” he grunted in response.

“Yarrowshade said you knew exactly who you would pick,” she continued, meeting his gaze. “Is that true?”

“Mhm,” he tried for, hoping she’d leave it at that but knowing she wouldn’t.

“So, what are they?” she asked predictably. “If you care about the choices I make, you gotta say something, man.”

He sighed, disliking that he had to make his mouth form actual words again, and then grunted to clear his throat. “Floodkit I’d give to Nightfrost, Sparrow to Pantherhaze, and Barley to Ospreymask.”

“Huh,” she mused and he twitched an ear indignantly.

“What d’you mean, ‘huh’? You don’t like my placements?”

“No, no, I just wouldn’t have picked them myself,” she shrugged. “I feel like Ospreymask is too much of a kitsitter to them to be a good mentor. Y’know, same reason we don’t usually let cats mentor their own kits.”

“Fair point,” he conceded.

Her next question surprised him. “Would you like to mentor any of them?”

“Me?” he blinked, tail unfurling upward.

“Yeah, you, fish face,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re a good warrior and you deserve another apprentice.”

“I know that,” he said, unable to resist a little jab. “I just figured you’d give them to Yarrowshade and Scorch instead.”

Goldenstar let out a little growl. “Ugh, you’re still on about that? Just because you disagree with some of my choices doesn’t mean I’m just blindly doing whatever they tell me to, y’know.”

“So who are you planning to give them to?” he asked, sidestepping her comment.

She sighed in frustration and said, “I don’t know. But you’re at the top of the list. Now do you wanna mentor one of them or not?”

“I wouldn’t say no,” he shrugged.

“Any preference?”

He thought it over for a second. “Floodkit I guess. He’s got a lot of passion and ferocity. I think he’d make a great apprentice.”

“Interesting,” she hummed. “I’ll take it under advisement. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I will,” he agreed.

Shortly after, they arrived back at camp and she left him to head into the Healers’ den. In the dusty center of camp, the kits were playing. Floodkit and Sparrowkit wrestled and chased each other, shouting about borders and territories and such. Barleykit sat at the edge of camp, watching her brothers with a dejected look on her face. Russetfrond decided to see what was troubling her and took one of the birds he had caught, a bright red cardinal, over to where she was sitting.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

Barleykit squeaked in surprise and nearly jumped to her feet. Recognizing him, she settled down again and said, “um, sure.”

He sat down next to her and said, “You seem upset. What’s wrong?”

“Oh,” she blushed, massive ears folding back. “I’m just… thinking.”

“About what?” he pressed gently as he started to pull the flight feathers from the cardinal. While it was normal to eat a bird feathers and all, he didn’t feel inclined to deal with the larger ones today and there was a methodical kind of pleasure in plucking them. Barleykit shuffled anxiously and looked askance.

“I’m worried about becoming an apprentice,” she admitted softly. “I don’t think I’ll be very good at it.”

“No one is good at it at first,” he shrugged, “that's why you have a mentor to teach you.”

“I guess,” she shuffled again. “I just… I don’t like rough games. I don’t wanna fight anybody. But I don’t care about herbs either. I’m worried I’m just gonna be a scaredy mouse my whole life.” Russetfroned hummed thoughtfully. He wasn’t sure what to tell her.

“Well,” he said, “being brave isn’t about not being scared. It’s about doing the scary thing anyway.” Barleykit sighed and looked down. It seemed that hadn’t helped to calm her worries at all. He looked down at his paws as he tried to gather his thoughts, and he spotted the scattered feathers. Something about their bright coloring sparked an idea in his mind.

“Here,” he said, plucking one of them from the ground. “See these feathers?”

“Yeah,” she said cautiously, eyeing them.

“These feathers are magic,” he said.

“Really?” Her eyes widened and she looked them over.

“Yep,” he nodded. “If you wear them on your fur they make you very brave.”

“Really?” she asked again. “I want some!”

“I dunno,” he feigned reluctance, “I was going to save them for myself…”

“Please?” she begged, “Please, please, please? I wanna be brave just like Floodkit!”

“Well… Okay,” he chuckled. “Here, hold still and I’ll put them in.” Barleykit sat up straight and lifted her head eagerly, posing in what he imagined she thought was a very brave position. He leaned forward and started to place feathers into her fur around her neck and shoulders.

After he’d placed as many as he cared to, he sat back and said, “There.”

She looked down at them, craning her neck to try and examine his handiwork, and said, “Wow. Do they look alright?”

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded. “You wear them well.” He leaned down to start eating but she leaped forward and put her paws on his food causing him to frown.

Before he could complain, she declared, “I wanna do you now!”

He closed his mouth, biting back on whatever irritation had risen in him. Taking a deep breath he said, “Okay, but put them in my tail okay?” Maybe that way, he reasoned, he could ignore it for the most part and finish his meal.

“Okay,” she said, plucking several feathers and then passing his food back to him. Sighing, he twitched his tail out in front of her and hungrily began to devour the cardinal. Barleykit hummed to herself as she tucked the feathers into his fur and smoothed the fur back down with the utmost care. After she finished, she sat back and looked at him eagerly.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

He gave his tail a roll and glanced over it. “It’s perfect,” he said, “Thank you.”

“We can wear them together,” she nodded, “and we’ll both be brave.” “Sure,” he chuckled, and went back to eating. She was a sweet girl, he thought, but already his energy for kitsitting was nearly gone. Luckily, she settled down again, laying her head against his tail, and they quietly watched her brothers tumbling across the grass together. She probably isn’t the right apprentice for me, he thought, but I hope Goldenstar picks a good mentor for her.

UPDATES:

- Russetfrond and Barleykit start wearing cardinal feathers on their pelts.

#clan gen #clangen #warrior cats #warrior cats oc #warriors #warriors oc #clangen oc #clan gen oc #Russetfrond #Barleykit #Goldenstar #clangenrising

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beneathstarryskies · 1 year

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For @actuallysaiyan because you're my bestie and deserve the world! ❤️

A/N: Just some soft/fluffy drabbles for Dante, Vergil, Nero, and Sparada x reader

Warnings: lots and lots of fluff, slight angst, mentions of pregnancy in Sparda's drabble, suggestive themes but nothing explicit, fem!reader

Dante

The setting sun lowers against the horizon. The bedroom slowly grows darker and darker. The passing time doesn’t bother you because right now you’re suspended in the most loving moment you can imagine. It wasn’t difficult for you to talk Dante into sharing a lazy day spent mostly in bed with you. He didn’t have any pending missions today, and the one time the phone rang he blissfully ignored it in favor of pressing the sweetest kisses on every inch of your exposed thighs, enjoying the trembling muscles and the soft gasps that left you every time he inched closer to where you needed him most.

Now, as the sun goes down, he’s hovering over you. Your hands card through his messy white hair, and you admire the way the evening sun reflects on his snowy eyelashes. The blue of his eyes shines even brighter in this light. His lips curl into a mischievous smirk when he notices the softness of your features as you look up at him.

“You like what you see, sweetheart?” he asks.

“So much,” you giggle. “You’re beautiful, Dante.”

He turns his head, the thick curtain of hair concealing the blush on his cheeks. This gives him time to seek solace in the soft curve of your neck, and he takes the chance to kiss your skin softly to make it seem like this was his intention all along. You massage his neck and shoulders, and all the while you can hear him purring softly. Finally, he looks at you again.

“Baby, can I make love to you?”

You’re surprised he’s only just now asking. His body is burning to finally make love to you. All day long, you’ve been caught in this haze together. You turn each other on over and over, but neither wanted to break the spell by suggesting you finally take him inside of you.

“Please, baby,” you kiss him softly. “I want you.”

Dante lines himself up at your entrance. He takes his time teasing you both by prodding your hole with his leaking cockhead. As he slips into you, inch by inch, you’re both panting and gasping over how good it feels. Your walls just open up to him with such ease. You can tell by the slow roll of his hips, that Dante doesn’t intend on rushing things at all. You spent all day laying around together, touching each other, and kissing. Now, he’s quite happy to make love to you all night long.

Vergil

You’re happily seated on Vergil’s lap. One of his arms is wrapped securely around your waist and the other is holding his book open as he reads to you. The poetry falls from his lips like honey. As he turns the page, he kisses your temple softly. You’d found him sitting in here reading happily by the window. You’d slipped into his lap, and he was so enraptured by his reading that he’d barely noticed. His arm went around you almost by instinct, and he continued reading. It wasn’t until you’d looked up at him with your wide eyes and a sweet smile, and asked oh so nicely for it, that he began reading to you. Hours have passed now, with him reading quiet, romantic poetry to you. Your eyes are heavy and you let out a soft yawn.

“Do you need a break, sparrow?” he asks softly.

“No, keep going,” you smile up at him.

“As you wish,” he kisses your forehead softly.

He starts a new poem, and you’re hanging on as long as you can. Vergil holds onto you a little tighter as your body goes weak against him. He’s barely made it to the third stanza when he realizes you’ve fallen asleep. He chuckles softly at the sight of you sleeping in his arms.

“I suppose that wasn’t one of your favorites,” he quips to himself.

He closes the book and sets it on the small side table. He lets you sleep on him for a little while, then gently carries you to your shared bedroom. He lays you down on the bed and kisses your forehead before tucking you in.

When you wake up hours later, you pout at the prospect of being alone in bed. You get up and wrap yourself up in a blanket. You can vaguely smell something cooking in the kitchen. As you walk in, you’re greeted by the sight of Vergil wearing the light blue apron you’d playfully bought him that says “Kiss the Cook” on the front. He has a cookbook open and propped up on some cans. You realize he’s trying to make your favorite dish.

Nero

Nero has been away from home much longer than either of you would’ve liked for him to be. Finally, one morning, he makes the phone call you’ve been waiting for. He tells you he’s on his way home, only interrupting once to tell Nico to “can it” as she teases him for how soft he is for you. He’ll be home by the end of the day. You decide to call in to work so you can be home when he arrives, then you set about making all kinds of preparations. Starting with making him a cake, chocolate with raspberry swirl. You put a roast chicken in the oven and put a bottle of wine in the fridge to chill. Then, as it gets closer to time for him to arrive, you take a long shower and slip into his favorite of your silky nighties and a long robe. You put on a bit of makeup to look your best for him.

However, you wait and wait for him. The chicken gets done, and you don’t even know if you should bother waiting for the sides. With a sad sigh, you wrap up all the food and put it away. You make yourself a sandwich and munch it down before going to bed.

It’s past midnight when the front door opens. Nero is sheepish as he walks into the living room, expecting you to be worriedly waiting in the living room Instead, there’s no sight of you. He goes to the kitchen and sees the table all set for a romantic dinner that didn’t happen, and his heart drops.

He goes upstairs and sees you sleeping peacefully in the bed you share. As quietly as he can manage, he undresses before sliding into the bed beside you. He’d tried to tell himself he wouldn’t wake you, but now that you’re in reach he’s not sure he can resist. He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him. You feel his lips against your shoulder as you begin to stir awake.

“Baby?” you ask softly.

“It’s me, angel. I’m sorry I was so late,” he cuddles against you, pressing his face against your neck. “The van broke down and we were fixing it.”

“Oh! Baby,” you roll over in his arms and begin kissing him so sweetly. Nero just melts into your soft touch. You cup his cheek, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“I’m home now, angel. That’s all that matters.”

Sparda

Your eyes are wide as you take in every detail of the vast castle. Sparda’s large hand envelops yours completely as he gives you the grand tour. Sparda can’t remember the last time he invited someone here, although he guesses that’s to be expected. It’s been centuries since he stayed at the Fortuna castle last. After his sons found him in the underworld, he came to this place. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find in Fortuna. Perhaps just a peaceful place to die if nothing else. Instead he found you. You’d begun by delivering him supplies. One rainy day, he’d invited you inside to warm yourself up by the fire in the large entrance hall. He’d served you tea and cookies, and found himself genuinely enjoying your company. As time went on, he invited you in more and more often when you stopped by for your deliveries. Like most on the island, you’d been raised to view him as a god. However, you’d quickly moved past that when you realized how much you enjoyed his company.

A little at a time, the Dark Knight began to fall in love with you. You shared his feelings in abundance. When the time came for him to invite you to move into the castle with him, he’d felt quite nervous about the whole ordeal. You’d accepted with a kind smile and a sweet kiss. Love was in the air. Today he was giving you the tour, and tomorrow you would call this castle home.

He walked you through the vast libraries and gallery halls. Then, he walked you into the residence halls. He showed you the master bedroom first, then the nearby guest rooms. They were furnished so beautifully, but the emptiness of them hit your heart with sadness.

“We can find uses for them,” he says as he leans down to kiss your cheek.

“Maybe we could turn one into a nursery?” you suggest with a playful wink.

For a moment, Sparda is truly flabbergasted. His eyes widen as he stares down at you, trying to piece together if you’re serious or not. He hadn’t considered having more children. Would he only let them down the way he did Dante and Vergil? You cuddle against him and giggle.

“Only when we’re ready, of course?”

“So,” he smirks, “You truly wish to carry my child?”

“Of course!”

He hoists you up in his arms and begins to carry you towards the master bedroom once more.

“There’s no harm in trying,” he says.

#dante x reader #vergil x reader #nero x reader #sparda x reader #devil may cry fanfiction #dante dmc x reader #vergil dmc x reader #nero dmc x reader #sparda dma x reader #devil may cry x reader #devil may cry #dante #sparda #vergil #nero #🌟written in the stars

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loki-is-my-kink-awakening · 25 days

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WIP Wednesday

Lokius. Loki fears they will be lost to timeslipping, so when they appear beside Mobius, even if they are on the floor, they cling onto him.

Loki was lost, pulled across the vastness of space and time, stretched so thin it felt like their atoms would be forever scattered, then snapping back together a second later. Each time, it hurt, but they didn’t want to admit that, not to Mobius when it was their fault they were in this mess. They’d let their guard down, and now the universe was spinning off kilter. The fear was the worst. Each time they disappeared, there was no assurance they would come back…to him. They could be gone and Mobius might never know the truth, that they loved him, even if they could never say it. If they never came back, would anyone think their life had been worth living? For years, they had been cut off from their peers, never having friends, never letting anyone in, isolating themself from their own family. They’d experienced years of loneliness, and they knew they deserved more. It had only been when they’d met Mobius that they’d finally felt some peace. For the first time in their life, they had been truly seen but without any judgement, and Loki had struggled to accept it, until finally—like a ravenous dog—they had revelled in the very thing they’d always wanted. Mobius made them feel whole when before they hadn’t realised they were damaged. And now, they needed him more than ever. With each twist of their body, they were sure they were getting closer to oblivion. The cosmos had never looked so desolate. Darkness filled the void. Their heart ripped, another piece falling out and disappearing, never to be found again. It was over. It must be. They would never know the meaning of love again. With eyes closed, they let themself float, waiting, enduring. Then, a bright light shone from above and they winced. Muscles pulled and contracted, and beneath them was something solid, smooth and cold. Suddenly, they could breathe again. Their lungs worked and blood pumped through their veins. The world settled around them and they opened their eyes, realising exactly where they were. In front of them was a leg hidden beneath the scratchy brown material the TVA insisted everyone wear, and beneath that a leather shoe. Their eyes swivelled down their body, spotting Mobius’ other leg and the thin metal legs of the chair he was seated on. Above them was a table, and Mobius was hunched over it like he always was. Loki took in a sharp breath of air, then grabbed onto Mobius’ legs, wrapping their body around him and sighing with relief to have him in their grasp once more. “What the?” Mobius yelled. “Mmmm,” Loki replied, face snuggled into him, never wanting to let go.

Inspired by this gorgeous art by @queerolddad.

I was tagged by both @cha-melodius and @kcscribbler. Thank you. 💕

Tagging writers, artists and creators @doomed-spectacles @insert-witty-user-name-here @dewdropreader @starport-seven-five @starrose17 @sparrow-the-tired-lesbian @blackbirdofasgard @faylights @typewriterwolf @lgwilt @mobius-m-mobius @wolfpup026 @natendo-art @lokimobius @loki-us and anyone else who wants to do it.

#lokius #loki x mobius #loki #mobius #loki series #loki laufeyson #mobius m mobius #loki show #loki tv #lokius fanfic #wip wednesday #my wips #writer tag game

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waynes-multiverse · 8 days

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Plastic Hearts – Part 22

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.

Chapter Warnings: +18, language, injuries, hospitals, jealousy, drug use, angst, smoking everywhere 'cause it's the 80s, girl fights, a whole lot of FLUFF

Word Count: 6.9k

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all your comments last week! So happy to bring these two idiots back to your screens of choice and give them an ending they deserve! Now, buckle up! We have some bitchy moments in this one 👀😇

<< 21 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

22. Girls, Girls, Girls

The gym smells of blood, sweat, and tears tonight. More so than ever before. The tensions run high.

It’s the first live taping since the show’s official cancellation. The first three matches have already run their course, the rest of the women joining Dean in his office, using the platform as the perfect viewing room. It’s like an NFL suite at Super Bowl. Everyone’s drinking, celebrating, and has gathered here to watch the biggest match of the night:

Red Sparrow vs. Liberty Bell

Usually, the green-eyed director would be bothered by the constant chatting, shrieking, and yapping. But tonight, he could care less as he passed the director’s crown on to his spawn, leaving Claire to man the booth and direct the show on her own, putting her AV skills to the test.

After all, the show’s already canceled. What’s the worst that could happen? Might as well let a rebellious teenager call the shots. Who gives a shit! Isn’t it awesome to be this carefree?

“Can you guys keep it down?” Claire hisses with an annoyed roll of her eyes, her shoulders tense with stress as she tries to concentrate on the monitors. “I’m trying to direct a show here! I can’t fucking hear anything!”

Amused, Dean chuckles. Now, his daughter finally knows what it’s like to be in his shoes. He’s tried telling everyone for ages that these women are fucking annoying and that being a director ain’t easy.

While the women are busy talking up a storm and pay attention to the match, Dean sneaks to his desk and opens the first drawer. He pulls out his pack of cigarettes, but it’s not a smoke he’s in the mood for. To his surprise and shock, however, the little bag of white powder he hides in there is gone.

Did he put it somewhere else?

Frantically, he starts opening every drawer, moving stuff in and out of them. He rummages through his folders on his desk, sees if he placed it there somewhere, but it’s nowhere to be found. His green eyes then dart to his kid and an eerie feeling settles in his stomach. Surely, Claire didn’t take it, right?

Like father, like daughter, it echoes through his mind.

He always loved the fact that his kid was so much like him – the love for good movies, the humor, the sass, the sheer unabashed talent. But not in that regard. God, does he hope she didn’t inherit his drug addiction, too.

“Claire?” Dean knows he has to be careful in his questioning, not wanting to alert the other women in the room to the pressing issue. But his daughter skillfully ignores him, too focused on her current task. “CLAIRE?!” he barks loud enough to rattle the entire office.

Yeah, okay, that wasn’t as smooth and inconspicuous as he had hoped, but he’s fucking panicking on the inside, alright? He has entered worried dad mode.

Don’t act so fucking surprised, okay? He has evolved like man is supposed to do.

In all honesty, Dean wanted to get completely clean two weeks ago. As soon as Y/N waltzed into his office and slept with him, he swore he’d never touch the toxic and nasty stuff again. He was done, and this time, it’d be final. No going backsies. But he had one teeny-tiny baggy left, and well, he hates to be wasteful. So, his plan was to slowly stop and keep the withdrawals at a minimum. And it worked great so far. It hasn’t snowed in four fucking days.

“What?!” his kid grunts back, audaciously annoyed.

“Did you snoop through my drawers and take my smokes out?” Dean asks her in his best dad voice. He’s gotten quite good at it since he practiced it over the last few weeks.

Do your homework!

Eat your vegetables!

Tell that fucking boyfriend of yours to stop sneaking in through the window, or I’ll get my gun!

“No, I don’t smoke!” Claire huffs without missing a beat and doesn’t take her eyes off the monitors even once.

Dean believes her. Usually, when she lies, there are a few seconds of thinking that pass by before she comes up with a reasonable excuse. Not that he buys any of them, but whatever. This time, though, she answered right away, and he knows she has no idea what he’s even talking about.

So, did he misplace it? You’d think he’d be more careful with drug storage, but sometimes it’s a glass of whiskey too many, and stuff gets lost. Did he leave it in the car? Is it at home?

But then it dawns on him. Joanna.

The blonde storms into his office, forcing the director to look up. Her mascara is smeared across her cheeks, her hair disheveled and overall she seems upset and out of breath.

“I need my own goddamn dressing room,” Barbie demands. “I can’t get ready and in the right head space with all of these women down there. I’m the star of the show. Some of us need peace and quiet to wash the shit of the world from us before they have to fucking perform!”

“Whoa, whoa, easy, alright? Sit down,” Dean tells her calmly and gestures to the seat in front of him, where the blonde immediately plops down with an exhausted huff. “You can get ready in my office tonight, okay? You want a drink? You look like you need one.”

Jo nods with a sniffle and accepts the flask he’s offering her, almost downing the whole thing.

“What’s going on? You good?” Dean checks. Usually, he wouldn’t care about the blonde’s feelings, but since she’s up against Y/N tonight, he wants to assure himself nothing goes wrong.

“Yeah, it’s just… Sam.” She scoffs and takes another swig. “He’s got a new girlfriend. His secretary, Jessica.” The blonde rolls her eyes at the name. “Who knows how long he’s been fucking her. Our divorce isn’t even final.”

Dean nods understandingly as he rises from his chair and pats the blonde’s shoulder. “I know. Divorce is shitty. You’ll get through this. Trust me.”

“Shit…” Dean mumbles.

He left an emotionally vulnerable woman alone in his office with a bunch of booze and drugs. How could he be this stupid and reckless? He doesn’t even suspect Jo took the coke on purpose. She was probably looking for a smoke and stumbled upon it, thinking, “What the hell? My day is already shit, maybe this makes it better.”

Dean knows because it’s usually what he thinks as well when he’s at his lowest. How do you think he got addicted to drugs in the first place, huh?

Here’s how: two divorces and a failing career.

“Boss?”

“Dean?!”

“Dad!”

The green-eyed director snaps out of his thoughts and turns to the room full of women upon their calling, all of them looking quite panicked and worried. It’s like a fox got loose in the coop.

His brow furrows as he approaches the booth and big windows, trying to see where the concern is coming from. “What? What’s going on?”

“I think there’s something wrong, boss,” Donna informs him. “That’s not the fight they’ve practiced during training. They’re going off script.”

Fucking shit…

“Dean, what the hell is going on?” Billie cocks an eyebrow at the director, but he can’t get himself to focus or reply as his green eyes are glued to the match downstairs.

Dean’s too cynical to believe in a God and has certainly never prayed before, but tonight he can’t help it and utter a quiet prayer, hoping for a goddamn miracle.

His heart is racing as he watches the match unfold. There’s nothing he can do about it. Nothing can stop it. It’s like watching a fucking car crash as a bystander on the sidewalk.

Looking at Y/N’s face, he can see that she’s panicking as well and getting scared. It breaks his goddamn heart. The actress tries to talk to the blonde and get through to her but to no avail. Killer Barbie is on a mission, and her target is clearly Y/N.

And then, it all happens fast. Jo throws Y/N onto the mat and grabs her leg, raising it up by the ankle. There are tears in Y/N’s eyes before an audible crack echoes through the gym. Y/N screams out in pain. Jo drops her foot and backs away in shock, hands high in the air. The entire gym becomes mum, only a few quiet gasps uttered by the audience bounce off the tall walls.

Dean’s heart is about to explode as he bolts down the stairs and almost takes a fall. He hasn’t even reached the ring yet and assessed the damage, but he already blames himself. This is all his fucking fault. Donna warned him, and he didn’t listen. Y/N was obviously not fine, and neither was Jo. How many goddamn warning signs did he choose to ignore? And for what? For fucking ratings no one even cares about?

Y/N’s agonizing scream rings in his ears as the director makes his way to her. Rufus is already there in his referee costume, trying to help her as best as he can. Dean’s so close he can practically count the steps to the ring. Has this gym always been this huge? It feels like he’s been running a mile.

But then, he’s abruptly stopped by Cas’ announcer voice and what his green eyes find unfolding in front of him.

“And here comes a camera guy to save our Russian warrior!”

Oh hell, no!

Dean should probably be glad that someone is helping her and not let his jealousy win. But does that someone really have to be fucking Benny of all people? The green-eyed director truly thought he was done worrying about that guy. Now, however, he has to watch that douchebag heroically carry Y/N out of the ring while the audience cheers and claps.

It’s his worst goddamn nightmare. Well, that and Y/N getting hurt in the first place.

“Put her down,” Dean demands fiercely as he faces Benny, his blood boiling as he watches the actress hold on to the guy’s neck and wince in pain. A bit of guilt mixes with his jealousy at that.

Don’t be an asshole. Focus, he reminds himself. Y/N’s more important than your fucking ego.

“What? No,” Benny denies his request with a confused and irritated frown.

“That’s an order,” Dean grits boldly.

“I don’t care. She’s hurt,” Benny snaps back with emphasis and acts like Dean doesn’t know what that means. “Fucking fire me if you have a problem with that. The show’s done anyways.”

That fucking little prick…

Dean purses his lips in frustration. What is he supposed to do now? Rip her from the guy’s arms? Start a fist fight?

“I can take her. I’ll drive her to a hospital,” the director insists with a little more reasoning.

“Let’s take my limo! There’s enough space for her,” Ruby chimes in as the whole pack of women flock to the rescue and worryingly gather around Y/N.

Great. More helping hands is what Dean needs right now.

“No, we’re taking my car,” Dean maintains, trying to remain calm amongst the concerned chatter. “Baby’s backseat got plenty of space, alright?”

“True,” Bela agrees with a dirty smirk.

Dean sighs, Billie rolls her eyes, and Y/N frowns at that. Dear God, these fucking women…

“How about we ask Y/N what she wants, huh?” Dean proposes, knowing the actress will surely pick him. God knows she’s picked him yesterday all night long…

Benny smiles as if he could win this battle. “Fine.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, what d’you want? Who do you wanna go with, huh?” Dean asks, lowering himself down to her with a gentle look in his eyes and a warm, caring smile.

“I don’t care!” Y/N whines with pained features and a high level of annoyance. “I just wanna go to a hospital! Any hospital in any car.”

Fair enough, Dean thinks dejectedly. Still, she could’ve done him a favor and picked him. He hates losing to a fucking camera operator.

“My limo it is!” Ruby exclaims and bolts ahead to the parking lot, keys jiggling in the air.

With a triumphant smirk, Benny turns and follows Valley girl outside, Dean swallowing down the urge to punch the guy as Y/N throws him an apologetic look over camera guy’s shoulder.

These fucking women…

Dean has floored the gas pedal of the Impala, but it’s fucking LA, so an hour was spent standing in traffic on the freeway. Moreover, he had to gather Claire and Cas as well and check on Jo, while Benny and the girls were already at the hospital with Y/N.

When Dean finally arrives, he rushes through the glass doors into the waiting area of the emergency room, Cas and Claire on his heels. His group is easy to spot, considering they’re all still in their fucking wrestling costumes.

His hands ball into fists when he sees Benny holding an ice pack to her injured ankle as she sits in a wheelchair, the girls scattered around Y/N on creaky hospital seats as they keep her company. He hates that camera guy is taking care of his girl. It should be him by her side, not some fucking footnote in this story.

“Hey, what the fuck is going on? Why is she still waiting?” Dean asks furiously, charging in full-throttle. His heart is burning for Y/N, and nothing can extinguish it.

Hell, if she isn’t getting help soon, he’ll burn this goddamn hospital down.

“Because she’s not a gunshot wound?” Ruby answers wryly, earning her glare.

But Dean supposes party girl has a point. It’s an LA hospital in a bad neighborhood.

“Want me to lick your wound? Saliva helps with blood clotting,” Meg offers as she holds Y/N’s hand tightly.

“She’s not even bleeding,” Cassie counters with a raised brow.

“She might be bleeding internally,” Meg argues and places her palm on Y/N’s forehead, taking her temperature.

“Stop it! You’re freaking her out,” Charlie scolds from the seat behind her.

“Why is this taking so long? My friend is in pain! Do you hear me?” Meg whines, calling to the nurses’ station.

Why are girls so exhausting? That question has been running around Dean’s mind for months now. He’s still lacking an answer.

Ignoring the female turmoil around him, Dean lowers himself down in front of Y/N and finds her eyes, smiling gently. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you doing, huh?”

“Dean!” Y/N smiles broadly when she recognizes him, her face lighting up and beaming brighter than the fluorescent lights above her. It warms his heart.

The director’s head then tilts slightly, inspecting her closer. She seems awfully chipper for someone in pain. Her pupils are gigantic, too.

Ruby leans in and whispers, “I gave her a Valium… and then half a Klonopin.”

Ah. There it is. She’s fucking high. That explains it.

Dean reaches out his hand and caresses her pink cheek, feeling her lean into his touch. “You feeling good, sweetheart?”

“I’m awesome,” she replies with a drowsy giggle.

He grins. “Yeah, I bet you are…”

Is it weird he’d like to fuck her in this state? Right, probably not a good time to ask those questions. (But he swears he wouldn’t take advantage of her. Just play with her and test her senses a little.)

“You’re so pretty,” Y/N tells him dreamily, making him blush hard as she touches a few strands of his hair and plays with them.

“And the first pill is kicking in,” Ruby notes, amused.

A nurse then finally walks into the waiting room with a tired gleam in her eyes and clears her throat to catch everyone’s attention. Dean can’t blame her. He knows it’s like a fucking circus in here.

“Good news. We have a bed ready, so I’ll take her back and all of you can leave?” the nurse explains and looks at the wolf pack hopefully.

Meg stares her dead in the eyes and replies flatly, “Not a chance.”

Yeah, Dean could’ve told that nurse those girls weren’t going anywhere.

Benny rises from his position and attempts to push Y/N’s wheelchair, following the nurse. But Dean will be damned if he lets him. Provocatively, he pushes the camera guy aside and scowls at him, making his territory and claim clear. The girls aren’t the only wolves in this waiting room.

“I got her. You can leave,” Dean growls with a deathly stare. “My show, my actress. I’m the director, and she’s my fucking responsibility, got it?”

Benny raises his palms in surrender and takes a step back. He already knew he lost when Y/N only had eyes for Dean as soon as the director showed up. A pill-high never lies.

The nurse helps Y/N into a bed in a small, quiet room. As they wait for a doctor, Dean impatiently paces the room, fuming away on his smoke. If you can’t tell, he’s far away from relaxed.

A man in a white coat with a friendly smile then finally strolls in and introduces himself. “Hello there, Y/N Y/L/N. I’m Dr. Gabriel Piccolo. Are you with the circus?”

Dr. Sexy, as Dean refers to the guy, lifts an eyebrow at Y/N’s unusual costume. You’d think as a doctor at a hospital in Hollywood, he’d see more people like this.

“I’m an actress on a wrestling TV show,” Y/N replies, not offended by his question in the slightest.

“Oh, uhm, I’ll have to watch it,” Dr. Sexy says politely and then gets straight down to business, cocking his head at her injured leg. “Okay, so left ankle. We’re gonna have to cut off this boot.”

“Oh! No, no, no. Sorry, these are important.” Y/N protectively throws herself over her knee-high army boot.

Dean sighs a little. Even high on pills and in unbearable pain, Y/N still prioritizes her silly job. “Alright, Doc. I got it,” the director relents and shoots the man a look.

Carefully, Dean unties her laces, loosening the shoe enough. “I’m gonna go slow, sweetheart. Just take it easy, alright?”

Dean flashes her a smirk and watches as she bites down on her lower lip, nodding. She inhales sharply and whimpers when he slips the boot off her foot. His fingers smooth over her leg, soothe the skin, and elicit a shudder from her. He can tell the action turned her on, can see the goosebumps rise on her arms as she presses her thighs together. He can practically hear her drip.

He smirks devilishly. Y/N sends him a knowing frown.

Dr. Sexy clears his throat and interrupts their heated moment, causing Y/N’s cheeks to flush furiously.

The doctor then assesses her ankle. It’s swollen and the skin a purplish-blue. Dean knows it doesn’t fucking look good. He guesses it’s not a simple sprain.

“Can you feel your toes? Can you wiggle them?” the doc checks. Y/N does as asked and moves her toes as best as she can. It’s not much though before she winces in pain. “How does that feel?”

Dr. Sexy touches the swell on her ankle, and Y/N squeezes her eyes shut and locks her jaw, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“Fucking hurts,” she grits through strained teeth.

“Okay, we’re gonna take some X-rays. See what we’ve got,” the doc finally says and disappears out of the room.

Y/N exhales an exhaustive breath and looks at the director. “Distract me,” she prompts with desperate eyes.

“Well, I’m not gonna be my regular chipper self,” Dean quips, making her laugh. He smiles, too, and leans in closer. “How about this?”

He wiggles his eyebrows and then dips his head, claiming her lips in a blistering kiss that makes her legs quiver. His tongue slips inside her mouth, swipes deep as teeth scrape her lower lip. Upon her first moan, he draws back with a smug smile.

He leans close to her ear, whispering against her shell, “You know if curling your toes didn’t hurt, I’d make you come so fast on my fingers right now, baby girl.”

Her eyes widen. She gasps and gently hits his arm in a scolding manner. “Dean!”

“What?” He chuckles and pecks her crown. “It’ll be alright. Don’t worry so much, okay?”

The girls then soon flood the room, one by one providing endless entertainment that surely no other patient at this hospital receives. Y/N’s a fucking star here, although she always is to Dean.

First, there was Claire, who practically emptied the vending machine, buying sweets and snacks for every taste (with Dean’s money). He’s nothing more than a wallet to that girl.

Meg, on the other hand, stole more pillows and blankets from other patients, making sure Y/N was as comfortable as possible. Ruby read Cosmopolitan to her and filled out the magazine’s sex quiz, intriguing Dean a lot.

Every girl pretty much brought their unique sense of entertainment, making Y/N laugh and smile so much she almost forgot why she was here. Only one woman was missing from the wolf pack – Joanna.

As Y/N is finally wheeled away to her X-rays, Dean decides to join the other women in the waiting room. He’s more than happy to discover that Benny actually left when he can’t catch sight of the guy anymore.

Guess the director is the true winner, after all.

Donna then approaches Cas, who’s nervously sucking on a cigarette in the corner by the vending machine, and hands him a clipboard with a hospital form.

“Y/N doesn’t have insurance, and we don’t know what to fill out,” the blonde tells him and meekly saunters back to her seat.

Cas frowns and looks at the women in disbelief. “How could she not have insurance? She’s a professional wrestler.”

Billie arches a sarcastic eyebrow at that and replies wryly, “Yeah, employed by Novak Productions, who doesn’t provide health care.”

Cas swallows guiltily and purses his lips. “How many of you don’t have insurance?”

Almost every woman in the room raises their hand, except for Jo, Billie, and party girl.

That tracks, Dean thinks and is not the least bit surprised. Judging by Cas’ shocked expression, though, this revelation clearly shatters the privileged rich boy’s world.

The producer nods earnestly. “This is my responsibility, and I will take care of it,” he promises. Dean gives him a pat on the back, letting Cas know he’s doing the right thing. If the producer hadn’t footed Y/N’s bill, Dean surely would have.

The director then glances around the waiting area, noticing the sad faces and depressed mood. “Alright, she’s not dying, okay?” he tells them and catches their attention. “You guys did a great show tonight. Why don’t you go back to the motel?”

“Great?” Donna cocks a brow at his word choice. “We were amazing.”

Charlie looks up at him, a hopeful look in her eyes as her red hair shimmers in the fluorescent light. “You think we get our old time slot back, Dean?”

Dean smacks his lips, scratching the scruff on his chin. He then shakes his head. He can’t lie to them. Knowing what he knows, he also knows it’s over. “No, I don’t. I think we’re gonna die at 2am… But we’ll die on our own terms, alright?”

Nodding, Ruby sighs loudly. “I’ll drive everybody home. And then, we get drunk while we ice our knees.”

As the girls start to gather their belongings and rise from their seats, Jo rushes through the glass doors. The women punish her with little glares on their way out. No one buys it was an innocent accident. In fact, Dean’s pretty sure the wolf pack believes the blonde tried to murder their beloved leader.

Dean, however, doesn’t.

“She’s in room 3,” he tells Jo without further comment.

The green-eyed director didn’t know what he had expected when he sent Joanna into Y/N’s room. Maybe that they’d talk like adults, get it all out in the open, and finally make amends. Be best friends again.

But maybe that was a little naive of him.

It all started out innocently. Dr. Sexy entered the room with a set of X-rays and left happily a few minutes later. Meanwhile, Dean and Cas smoked in the hospital’s corridor and drank the most awful-tasting coffee out of plastic cups.

Then, the mood started to shift. The guys could hear the girls arguing with slightly raised voices, just loud enough for it to drown out into the hallway.

“Eight to ten weeks? It’s not that long,” Jo could be heard saying.

“It’s the rest of the season. I won’t be on the show,” Y/N threw in through gritted teeth. Dean could hear the upset in her voice.

Jo scoffed, brushing it off. “Well, we’re getting canceled anyways, so… It’s just a job, you know.”

“No, it’s not!” Y/N’s voice went up a notch in volume. Dean knew she was close to reaching a boiling point. This wasn’t good.

“Okay, geez, you don’t have to lash out at me. I did not mean to break your ankle, okay?” Jo countered, pushing all blame off her.

“I don’t fucking believe you!”

And that was the turning point. That’s when the yelling started. The one that could be heard throughout the hospital, spilling into every room and probably several floors.

“No, no, no…. See, that was an accident, Y/N,” Jo says with a jittery voice. “Unlike the time you accidentally fucked my husband! TWICE!”

“You made out with my prom date on prom night!”

“That is not the same thing, and you know it!”

“Oh? Is it the same thing when you hooked up with your co-star at your stupid soap wrap party one week before you got married? And coincidentally, Sammy was born nine months later! Is he even Sam’s? ‘Cause he looks a whole lot like what‘s-his-face!”

“How dare you!”

“You didn’t even love Sam! You only married him for his money!”

“You don’t have the fucking right to say anything about my marriage!”

Cas swallows down a big gulp of coffee, sharing a nervously concerned look with Dean. “Should we, you know, go in there?”

Dean’s eyes widen as he vividly shakes his head. “Fuck no! Are you nuts? We stay right here. Look, men are simple. They throw a few punches and then share a drink. And women… Well, women do fucking this. Bottle everything up, even for years sometimes, till it fucking explodes. Trust me, they need this. Let ‘em get it outta their system.”

Fucking women…

“Oh, do I have the right to talk about your power complex?” Y/N yells. “Or do I have to schedule a meeting with all the producers?”

“I’ve earned my title!”

“Right, your fucking work ethic is legendary! I’m so sick and tired of apologizing about Sam! I don’t care anymore! I have eaten shit for months! I have done everything I can think of to make this right!”

“You can’t make it right!”

“Great! Then I’ll stop trying!”

“Fine!”

“Yeah, fine like you telling me I should get raped to save our show! The show you don’t give a shit about!”

“God, you’re so melodramatic! I just figured you’re already screwing our director for attention, what’s one more network executive!”

Cas blinks at Dean with wide eyes and a raised brow. “Are you-… Are you and Y/N dating?”

Dean averts his eyes to the blue wall opposite him and wordlessly sips his coffee. He has a feeling the girls’ fight is about to take a turn, going into a direction he doesn’t particularly care for. Why can’t they just leave him out of it?

Cas, however, takes Dean’s silence as what it is – an admission. The producer’s face lights up with joy. He excitedly rubs Dean’s shoulder and gasps giddily. “That’s so great! You haven’t dated anyone since Amara! I’m so happy for you! I love Y/N! Are you guys getting married? Did you buy a ring? Can I be best man? You know what they say, third time’s the charm!”

Dean scowls at the producer and heaves a deep sigh. “Calm the fuck down, would you? No one’s getting married.”

“Go to hell! I’m not fucking Dean, okay?” Y/N denies Jo’s accusation loudly.

Dean thinks she’s a hell of an actress. If he didn’t know for a fact that he was balls-deep inside her last night, he would’ve bought that little lie.

“Oh please! It’s so obvious!” Jo counters. Dean can practically hear the exhaustive eye roll that followed. “He’s following you around the gym like a lovesick puppy!”

That’s what Dean was afraid of. He does not like where this conversation is headed.

“He is not! Shut the fuck up!”

“Are you really trying to fucking lie to me, right now? I’ve known you since middle school!” Jo snaps. “And he certainly fits your glorious dating choices! Drug addiction? Check! Asshole? Check! Commitment issues? Check! He’s perfect for you. I’m surprised your slutty ass didn’t jump him the first day!”

“Oh, fuck you, you fucking bitch!”

“Slut!”

“Whore!”

Then, more yelling, more accusations, and more tears follow before Jo storms out of the room and bolts past the boys down the hallway.

Fucking girls…

“I’ve never felt so guilty about anything,” Cas mumbles next to him, completely distraught and shaken.

Dean scoffs. “Geez, you’ve lived a charmed life.”

“Thought I was gonna have a wrestling show, and no one was gonna get injured?” Cas shakes his head at his own nonsense. “What the fuck is wrong with me? I destroyed our little family! I mean, Y/N is a gimp.”

The director rolls his eyes and sighs. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. She’ll go on to have a full life, okay?”

Somehow that causes Cas to smile cheekily. He nudges the director’s shoulder. “With you?”

Dean sends him a thundering glare and dumps his burning cigarette bud into the producer’s coffee cup as he walks past him and returns to Y/N’s room.

Dean sat quietly next to Y/N as a nurse put a cast on her leg. The ankle, much like the women’s friendship, was broken, and the actress was out of commission for the foreseeable future. She hadn’t spoken a word yet, only sniffling and crying silently to herself. Dean left her alone and only handed her a tissue every now and then, figuring she needed some time to calm down and think. But he still wanted her to know he was there in case she needed him.

As the nurse finally leaves, Dean reaches out his hand and takes hers, drawing comforting circles on the back of it. Patiently, he waits till she’s ready to look at him.

“Well, I won’t be needing these anymore,” Y/N mutters with a pout and dumps her army boots on the little bedside table. “You should give them to Claire. She’d make a great replacement Red Sparrow.”

Dean purses his lips. It takes a lot out of him not to roll his eyes at her dramatization. He supposes that’s what he gets for falling in love with a goddamn actress – fucking theater no less. But he knows she’s really going through it right now, so he’s willing to cut her some slack.

“Relax, I’m not giving your part away,” he assures her with an easy smile.

“Well, you have to, if you want to keep the storyline moving forward,” she mumbles grumpily.

“Who cares? It’s just a TV show,” Dean argues.

However, that particular line seems to anger her. “Everyone keeps saying that. It’s not to me,” she contends and finds his eyes, her teary-eyed and desperate look boring into him. “I have people now. People who come with me to the ER. People who care if I’m hurt.”

Dean nods his head in understanding. He knows Cas and Y/N are essentially right, as much as it hurts him to admit it. They are a little family – a weird and incredibly dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just the easiest thing to say, you know?” he says and lets out a sigh. He rests his palm on her thigh and squeezes reassuringly. “How’s this? I don’t wanna make this show without you. I’m not gonna make this show without you.”

Y/N sucks in her lips, forming a tight line as she stares at her hands in her lap. “I thought we were all replaceable.”

Dean’s lips twitch with a smile. He lifts her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Well, you’re not, sweetheart.”

He leans closer and kisses her ardently till her toes curl. When she hisses slightly in pain, he pulls back, both of them chuckling.

Then, Dean swallows the heavy lump in his throat. He knows he has to come clean, literally and figuratively. He takes her hand in his again. This time for his own comfort.

“Listen, uhm, tonight was kinda my fault… on some level, at least,” the director starts.

Y/N’s brow creases, but she brushes it off with a disbelieving snort. “Why? Did you tell Jo to break my ankle?”

Dean chuckles lightly, although he doesn’t feel like laughing, considering he’s scared to death she’ll dump him in a few seconds once she hears the truth. “No, uhm, but she might’ve found something in my office that caused a lack of judgment on her part. I-, uhm, I might not have been as clean and drug-free as you believed me to be.”

“Oh. I see…” Y/N bites her lower lip and averts her gaze back to her hands, her fingers fumbling in a nonsensical pattern like a nervous tic. And then, she doesn’t say anything for serval minutes, while Dean slowly feels himself go crazy.

“So, uh, where do we stand? Are we mad? Disappointed? Disgusted? Sad?” Dean pries and pokes for an answer.

“I guess, uhm, disappointed,” she says finally. Dean sighs internally as his heart tightens. He had hoped it wouldn’t be that one. It’s the worst one. “And sad,” she adds.

Strike that. This is the worst one.

“Okay, uhm, good,” he replies before noticing her cocked brow at his answer. “I mean, not good-good, obviously. Just good to know where we are… So, where are we? Is this-, you know, is it over? Between us?”

Y/N glances at him slightly and takes a thoughtful breath. “No,” she says, and his heart rejoices with relief. “I kinda already knew you’re not perfect.”

Dean’s brow furrows momentarily before he smirks cockily. “Agree to disagree.”

Y/N tries to hide a smile at his joke. She’s unsuccessful in her endeavor. She squeezes his hand in reassurance. “It’s not your fault. It was still Jo’s choice,” she tells him. “Are you, you know, still…?”

Dean vehemently shakes his head. “No, no, I’m not. I haven’t for a couple of days, and I won’t anymore. I promise. Especially after tonight. I learned my lesson. I’m done with it. For good.”

“Okay,” she accepts.

Dean frowns a little because her forgiveness feels too easy, but he doesn’t get a chance to prod some more, her soft lips on his shutting him up for now. The kiss is fervent and sweet all the same. It makes his head spin and provides him with a completely different high – a much better one.

“Well, looks like we’re gonna have to get creative with this thing, huh?” Dean grins smugly and gently pats her cast.

Y/N throws him a raised look that borders on amusement. Of course, all he ever thinks about is sex. But she doesn’t mind a little sexy goofiness in her life right now and leans in for another kiss. He is a pretty fantastic kisser, after all.

“I got markers!” Cas hops cheerily into the room with a few pens held high in the air, watching the two of them quickly pull apart with red-tinted cheeks. The producer smiles adoringly at them. “You guys! Look at you! This is so exciting!”

“Oh, uh–”

Dean sees the panic spread on Y/N’s face and quickly swoops in, sending Cas a friendly but threatening look. “Hey, uh, buddy? Keep this between us, alright?”

“You got it! My lips are sealed.” Cas winks and locks his lips with his fingers, but his excitement isn’t even close to disappearing. “And I paid your bill, by the way!”

“Oh, Cas, you didn’t have to do that,” Y/N tells him sweetly and seems clearly flattered by his care.

“Yes, I did, ‘cause you couldn’t possibly afford it,” Cas says bluntly and uncaps a marker, signing his name on her cast. “And I felt so guilty.”

A knock on the door makes the three look up and watch Jo hesitantly amble inside, her head lowered in resignation and guilty admission. She holds up a duffel bag with a nervous smile.

“I thought you might wanna leave the hospital with pants on, so I brought you your favorite sweats from the motel,” she says and hands Y/N the peace offering. Y/N accepts it with a small smile. Jo then glances awkwardly at Dean and Cas. “As you may have heard, Y/N and I got into a big fight,” she explains the general tension in the room.

Dean nods curtly. “Oh, yeah, everybody heard.”

“Yeah, the cashier at the gift shop couldn’t stop talking about it.” Cas chuckles, causing Y/N and Jo to blush in embarrassment.

“So, what’s the plan, Dean?” Y/N looks expectantly up at him like he’s an oracle with all the answers.

Lucky for her, though, he’s cocky enough to provide them.

“You know what? We got four episodes left, right? Fuck it. No one’s watching. No one cares. Y/N can’t even walk. So I say we do whatever the hell we want,” the director suggests and grins broadly. “Let’s just set the weirdos free and see what the fuck happens.”

“I hope you guys have fun,” Y/N mutters with a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“Oh, you’re not getting out of it,” Dean interjects her pouting and self-pity. “You’re like a one-woman idea machine. I need you. Where we’re going, you don’t need legs.”

Jo smiles encouragingly at her and sits down on the edge of the bed as Cas hands her a marker. The two women then chat as if nothing ever happened, while the producer and the director share a confused look over the sudden ceasefire. But they take it as what it is – a gift from above.

Girls…

“Hey, uh, there’s something I need to do,” Dean says then. “Are you guys okay here to keep Y/N some company? I’ll pick you up right after.”

The three of them nod, and Dean feels confident enough to leave Y/N’s side. After all the emotional turmoil and chaos over the last week, the director direly needs an appropriate outlet.

The Impala pulls into the parking lot of H-ELLTV in Anaheim. It’s early in the morning, the sun barely up but still powerful enough that the beams sting his green eyes. Maybe it’s also the lack of sleep that causes it to hurt more.

Drugs aren’t an option. It’s too early to drink, even for him. And sex would’ve been possible, but he doesn’t want to be the ass that asks for it while his not-girlfriend is suffering in the hospital.

So, here he stands, next to Dicksuck Roman’s spot, where a beautiful dark blue Aston Martin V8 is parked.

Ever since Y/N told him what that creep tried to do, Dean’s been raking his brain with different revenge fantasies. Sure, he could cut off the guy’s dick and make him eat it, or cook his balls over a BBQ grill, or chop his head off and dunk it in acidic cleaning supplies. But Dean knows the only way to truly hurt a man is through his car.

The green-eyed director then pops open Baby’s trunk and hauls out a golf club. It was a gift from Cas that came with an invitation to hit the green in Pasadena for “networking purposes.” As if. Cas eventually accepted that Dean would rather kill himself before setting foot in that country club. (He might’ve also threatened to kill everyone else in it, which scared Cas enough to drop it.)

Dean’s heart soars high to the cloudless sky above as he administers the first few blows, shattering the front window and thoroughly denting the scratch-free and glistening hood.

Not anymore, Dean thinks with sinister joy.

He stops mid-swing, though, when Crowley walks by. The two men look at each other for a moment. Will the manager call the cops? Will Cas have to post bail on top of paying hospital bills?

But Crowley only bobs his head in acknowledgment. “He pisses off a lot of people,” he offers as an explanation and strolls ahead into the building, not paying Dean any more mind.

So, Dean continues hitting and swinging and batting until his lungs burn and his arms hurt. Only then does he drive back to the hospital across town to pick up his friends with a lightener heart.

23. Every Breath you Take – April 27

*sighs blissfully* Aah, some sweet fluff before all the drama starts... (And yes, I consider this chapter less drama and lots of fluff. That's how far we've come 😂)

Let me know how you've enjoyed this part! Are we rid of Benny for good? Is Y/N going to break Dean's plastic heart? 👀

TAGS:

Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies @agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28 @mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444 @syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity

#plastic hearts #dean winchester #director!dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester reader insert #director!dean winchester x actress!reader #dean winchester series #actor au #dean winchester au #supernatural #supernatural reader insert #supernatural au #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x y/n

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wayfayrr · 10 months

Note

I feel because of the chain having a lot of fights as strangers and since reader would be seeing wind sulking after when they have to leave since the other links are getting physical and because of that I would believe there be a lot of days where the links and reader would just have a movie night just some time to not think of the world for reader while feeding the chain's curiosity of this world. So I give you this, reader showing wind the pirates of the Caribbean trilogy.

So I hope you don't mind, I've written this as a sort of continuation of one of your recent asks where reader took Wind to the beach as a reward, but since the rest of the chain decided to argue and ruin it - he gets a private movie night instead!

“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with your dad arguing with every single living being Wind, I mean I know he’s getting better but you shouldn’t have to deal with it all the time.”

“Is that why you set all of this up [name], because he keeps arguing all the time? Are Wild and Calm gonna join us as well then?”

“Wild said they wanted to try and get closer to Sage actually. They’re doing their own thing, right now I’m focused on cheering you up kiddo. Don’t think I didn’t see you sulking when your day was ruined.”

He’s got his typical pout back, so clearly what I said was right even if he won’t say it aloud, Wind’s fairly easy to read like that. Asides from his very blatant dislike of the beach day being ruined by sage and time getting into a full-blown fight, he seems very pleased with the fact he gets my attention to himself like this. Burying himself in the pillow fort I made on the bed with a smile shows that clearer than day.

“So we're going to spend the night talking and eating a bunch of snacks?”

“A bit more than that, I’d like to show you some of my favourite films. I think you’ll love them even more than I do though.”

Setting this all up was far more complicated than I would’ve thought originally, and I’ll have to thank Wild for offering to distract Sage long enough so he won’t disturb us when we’re watching one of the best trilogies of all time, I’m sure I can come up with something to thank him. Right now my focus is all on Wind, and making up for his day being ruined; captain jack sparrow always helped cheer me up whenever I got upset so it should help Wind. Poor kid deserves to have some kind of reward for adjusting to his new life this well and as his parent, it falls to me to make sure he gets one that’s right for how incredible he’s being.

“So what are they about [name]! Is it one of those family traditions you said you were going to teach me, Wild and Calm!”

“No it’s not a tradition, and I wouldn’t be teaching you without your brothers either Wind.”

“You didn’t say what it’s going to be about though. Please [name]?”

Ruffling his hair with a laugh, settling next to him with the remote in my hand ready to show him something I was saving to cheer up a bad day. Making it beyond perfect for this exact moment. With the fog on the screen showing a ship emerge with the eerie singing, Wind’s attention was instantly hooked when he heard the faint lyrics of a pirate's life for me. Good, This is what he deserves after everything else. He’s more focused on this than anyone would have thought possible. Now I just hope he doesn’t have a Jack sparrow like I did the first time I ever saw this film, with his natural energy I don’t think any of us could survive that. After the escape and the botched execution of Jack with will turner saving his life I heard the first thing out of Wind since the film started.

“THAT WAS AWESOME!!! AND YOU SAID THERE’S MORE!!!”

“There’s still another two films to go kiddo, you sure you’re up for that?” “DO YOU EVEN HAVE TO ASK!! OF COURSE, I AM!!”

“So you wanna start the next one straight away?”

“COME ONNNN! I REALLY WANNA WATCH IT!”

“Alright kiddo, just don’t exhaust yourself you can ask me to pause it if you want to eat something.”

After watching the next two films, I can safely say I’m exhausted even though Wind still seems ready to watch more. Wait no, scratch that he looks like he could pass out at any moment, he’s barely keeping himself awake.

“‘M ready to go to bed now I think [name], do you mind if I-”

And there he goes, he didn’t even manage to finish his sentence before falling asleep. I’m just glad I managed to cheer him up after the failure of today. I’ll be careful not to wake him now. After all, I know better than to wake a man when he's sleepin'. It's bad luck.

#links✦react #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #link x reader #househusband sage #moss✦answers #moss✦writes

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acciotherapists · 6 months

Text

Little Sparrow (Chapter 9: Promises and Ultimatums)

Loki x Reader Mafia AU

When Tony Stark's little sister wakes up deep in enemy territory she assumes her life is over. She'll be killed or worse: used as a bargaining chip against her estranged brother. What happens when the mafia leader, Loki Laufeyson, offers her a deal she can't refuse? No sentiment. Only revenge. What happens when the truth is revealed? Will she betray her only family or betray the man she loves to hate? Little Sparrow is an enemies to lover's fic riddled with betrayal and spice!

Y/n or your mother.

Come back with us now or we kill her.

“Don’t you dare,” Frigga hissed as she watched me slowly move away from her son. “And don’t you dare let her go.”

Loki nodded, pulling me back to him.

“Let me go,” I hissed but he shook his head. “You promised me… you said it was my choice.”

“You’re right. It is your choice which is why I will not let them force your hand like this. I know you don’t want this.”

“You don’t know what I want!” I pushed him away from me, turning to Tony. “Let her go.”

“Y/n, we’ll figure out another way,” Loki argued, gently grabbing my wrist.

“There is no ‘we’ anymore, Laufeyson!”

“Y/n,” Frigga begged softly. “You promised.”

Don’t hurt my son.

“I lied,” I hissed, pulling my hand away from Loki.

“Darling, don’t do this.”

“Go to hell, Laufeyson.”

“Too late.”

I swallowed thickly at his words as I walked toward Tony. “Let her go.”

“You’re coming with us?”

I nodded.

He smiled, nodding to Clint and Steve who released Frigga. Loki grabbed her, asking if she was alright and she nodded.

Loki’s eyes locked with mine. “I won’t let you go. I promise I’ll find you.”

“I don’t want you to find me,” I hissed, swallowing back my tears. “I don’t want to see you again.”

Tony placed an arm around my shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Y/n, wait…” Loki grabbed my jacket off the chair and my phone from the nightstand. “I… I don’t want you to be cold.” His fingers brushed mine as he handed me my jacket and phone. “You know where I am… if you ever need me.” He gently pressed his lips to my forehead and I couldn’t resist. The minute he pulled away I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my lips against his. “I’m sorry,” I murmured against his lips. “I’m so sorry.” He pecked my lips a few times, not wanting to let go. “You deserve better, Loki.”

“All I’ll ever want is you. There is nothing better.”

“Alright, that’s enough. Let’s go,” Tony hissed from across the room.

“I love you,” he murmured. “You don’t have to say it back… I just needed you to know.”

“We’re leaving,” Tony hissed as he grabbed my arm, pulling me away from Loki.

***

There was an emptiness that filled Loki’s chest as Y/n was taken away from him. His knees hit the ground hard and he felt his mother’s embrace as he let out a sob.

“I’m so sorry, my son.” She took his face in her hands. “She loves you, my boy… you know she does. She didn’t mean what she said.”

He nodded. “She thought if she hurt me… that I’d let her go.”

“But she knows that’s not going to happen. I won’t let you lose her again.”

“Mother… if we go after her… they’ll kill you.”

“I’ve lived a full life, son. Besides, I think we can handle a few rogue Avengers… especially when we’re not caught off-guard, yes?”

“Are you certain you want to do this?”

She nods. “She just gave up her freedom for me; of course I want to do this.”

***

“Give me your phone,” Tony hissed as soon as we left the Asgardian base.

I turned to him, trying to control my anger. “You have no right to order me around, Tony.”

“I’m your big brother. I have every right!”

“I’m not a child anymore!”

“You’re sure as hell acting like one!” he hissed. “We have to check your phone for any bugs or trackers before we take you back.”

“Then I guess you’re not taking me back.”

“Y/n, stop being so difficult. Just give Bruce the phone.”

I rolled my eyes but reluctantly handed over the phone as we boarded the quinjet. Bruce began scanning it as Nat settled into the pilot seat.

“All clear,” Bruce said as he returned the phone to me.

“Did Laufeyson have your number?” Tony asked.

I rolled my eyes. “Does it matter?”

“And I suppose that answers that question.” Tony huffed in annoyance. “I’ll have Pepper grab you a new phone.” He began texting who I assumed was Pepper.

“I’m not switching phone numbers, Tony. I’m quite content with the one I have.”

“You’re not having any contact with Laufeyson until we can figure out how he brainwashed you. That includes phone calls.”

I scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Brainwashed? Seriously, Tony?!”

“Why else would you have stayed there?”

“Maybe because he wasn’t a complete asshole to me! Maybe because he never tried to force me to marry someone who left me to die!” I shouted.

“I’m sorry for what happened, kid, but you don’t want to stay with that man. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“No, you don’t know what he’s capable of! You’ve only ever seen the bad in them! What could they have possibly done to warrant such hatred?”

Tony scoffed. “That’s none of your concern.”

“Then it’s none of your concern who I have contact with.”

******

Taglist: @honeyrydernot @evelyn-kingsley

#loki x y/n #loki x reader #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #lokixreader #loki friggason #marvel #loki of asgard #marvel mcu #avengers #marvel au #mafia au #loki marvel #marvel x reader #loki x you #loki x female reader #loki au

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amostimprobabledream · 1 year

Text

Colour in my dark side (Homelander x Goth!Reader)

Blame @blindmagdalena for this, ages ago we were discussing Homelander becoming attracted to a goth!Reader who is indifferent to him and this is what spawned. Enjoy!

It’s hellish hot.

The Con is swarming with people, and your all-black outfit isn’t helping at all. This is not your idea of a good time – it’s loud, bright, every fifth person stinks of B.O, and there’s always some kid shrieking somewhere and you’re hungry. Posters and clips of the Seven are playing everywhere – you’re sure if you did a three-hundred sixty degree spin, you’d be able to see a whole movie play out across the whole venue. Honestly, it’s too much. You’ve never really cared all that much about Supes, to be honest. Sure, saving people’s lives is admirable and they deserved every bit of credit and however much money one paid Supes for doing that. That all made sense.

But all this? The tacky clothing lines and toys and comics? The endless ad campaigns and shitty movies and TV shows? It was all just so much. You had no idea how any sane person could bear it, but then, you were pretty biased in that respect. And every one of the Seven except maybe Black Noir were so not your aesthetic – the cheesy grins and spangly suits made your eyes hurt.

So why are you here?

Because your friend Jen practically begged you to come with her. She’d had tickets for SupeCon for months. Apparently, her sister was originally going to come with her, but somewhere along the way, plans changed, things got confused and she couldn’t make it. Jen promised she didn’t expect you to pay for her sister’s ticket and that she’d treat you to lunch, just as long as she didn’t have to go alone. You’d dragged her to some weird events in your time, so you agreed, if slightly reluctantly.

But now you’re here, it’s exactly as bad as you thought it was going to be. And it’s about to get worse.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe the Seven are finally here!” Jen squeals and bounces up and down next to you, while you stand there watching her in befuddlement. No doubt you make an odd pair to anybody watching – she fits right in and you look like a crow amongst a flock of sparrows.

“I mean, yeah, they are scheduled to be.” You reply, in the most deadpan voice you can muster. Jen usually catches onto your sarcasm very quickly, you’ve perfected the art of saying it subtly, but today she’s too excited and it goes right over your head.

The Seven enter with screams of applause that makes you wince, wanting to clap your hands over your ears. Homelander is in the lead, of course, waving to the crowd and even giving a cheesy thumbs-up. Queen Maeve, A-Train, Black Noir and Starlight follow him, not as bombastic but each of them seem to have their fair share of fans too. You don’t know where The Deep is and it looks like they haven’t gotten around to replacing Translucent yet.

Jen is busy snapping pictures of them as they walk to their booths. Apparently there’s going to be a short Q&A later about whatever movie it is they’re supposed to be plugging at the moment. Apparently this one is a big deal because it’s the first one with Starlight in it, but Jen promised she wouldn’t make you stay for that, thank god.

“God, most people don’t look as good when you see them in person, but they’re all so good-looking!” Jen gushes, bouncing on her heels.

“I guess.” You offer neutrally, trying not to sound too critical because she’s here to have fun.

They look a little uncomfortable to you. Well, it’s hard to get any vibes from Black Noir, to be honest, but Maeve has a just-swallowed-a-lemon face and Starlight’s smile has a nervous edge to it. You read somewhere she used to be in beauty pageants as a kid and it shows when she’s in front of a crowd. A-Train and Homelander seem to be soaking in the attention, though, which doesn’t surprise you at all.

“Omg, hey, look this way!” Jen says, suddenly turning her phone the other way and leaning her head towards yours. “Picture!”

“Ugh, do we have to?” you ask, but you dutifully pose anyway, but you don’t smile. The flash stings your eyes and you blink, hard.

You blink several times, eyes watering a bit, but you manage to prevent them from leaking, which is good because you don’t want to fuck up your eyeliner. Now Jen is staring at the rapidly-forming queue, chewing her lip as she deliberates and you fish your phone out of your pocket and start scrolling through it, absent-mindedly.

“Fuck it, I’m going in.” she says, turning to you hopefully. “You wanna come? I know you don’t really like the Seven, but you could at least meet Black Noir yourself?”

"Yeah, I don't think so." you reply without looking up from your phone. "Standing in line for hours just so some Vought barbie doll can bare their teeth at me and give me an overpriced piece of junk with their name scrawled on it is not my idea of a good time."

What the fuck?

Okay, maybe that was a bit mean - the heat and hunger is making you snippy, but fortunately for you Jen doesn't mind when you're grouchy so she simply laughs at you.

"Say what you want, Morticia, but I'm going to catch 'em all!" she grins at you. "I can't wait to talk to Starlight, she's the only one of the Seven I don't have any hand-signed merch of yet!"

You glance over at where the girl in question is sitting. Homelander gets the end table, obviously, since they're saving the best for last and if there's an emergency, he needs to be able to get out quickly (he's been known to crash through roofs before, apparently, so he's right next to the emergency exit door), but Starlight's on the table next to his. Between all the other members of the Seven there's something fragile-looking about her, with her dainty white costume and the hair in soft blonde waves. You know that's not true; she has to be tough to have been let into the Seven at all.

But...for some reason you find yourself feeling sorry for her.

"She looks so young." is what you end up saying.

“Yeah, I guess? I just wish she’d ditch that hairband; I had one just like it in middle school,” Jen says, shrugging. “Still love her, though! I’m gonna go get in line now!”

You nod, not really paying attention anymore and glance around, wondering if you should bother buying a hotdog or something – can you last another couple of hours before Jen gets you lunch?

“Okay, I’m getting a slushie. Do you want one?”

She smiles and shakes her head, hitching the strap of her bag further up her shoulder.

“Nah, it’ll have melted by the time I’m finished getting autographs. Go on and listen to The Cure or something.”

“Fuck you,” you reply with a smirk and Jen laughs and trots off towards the back of the line, her hair swishing. You’re glad she drove here because she’s going to struggle walking anywhere with all the shit she’s buying.

The line is so long it’s snaking around the room, but the Seven are used to events like this so hopefully she should only be an hour or so. You sigh and dodge a family that nearly steamroll right over you, a mother and father arguing loudly while their kids whine and shriek behind them, the youngest one squeezing an A-Train toy that is already missing an eye. You make a disgusted face as you dodge them – you don’t want their gross sticky hands getting on your clothes.

After buying yourself a slushie that’s so big it’s slightly too large for you to hold one-handed, you dodge endless streams of people until you get to a wall and lean against it. You can’t see any chairs anywhere, which is a shame because your feet are really starting to hurt.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you mutter to yourself, stabbing your straw through the slushie and taking a long, refreshing gulp. A soft sigh leaves you; “Ah.”

At least it’s quieter over here. While you nurse your drink and distantly wish you’d brought a flask so you could put some alcohol in this (you feel like alcohol would make time go by quicker), you get this prickling feeling and glance up, wondering if Jen decided she was too tired to wait.

But no. It’s not her. Instead, Homelander is staring straight at you. At first you don’t register that he is, merely that he happened to glance up in your direction, but after a couple of seconds of his unwavering gaze, it occurs to you that he might actually be looking at you. You glance over your shoulder just in case and relax – there’s an enormous poster blown up to the size of a billboard on the wall a foot or so above your head. He must be staring at that.

Right?

A moment later some guy steps in front of him to get his comic book signed and you can’t see Homelander anymore. Realising you’re nearly finished with your drink, you jolt a bit in surprise – did you drink that really fast or did you just lose track of time for a bit?

Something else occurs to you as you slip away from your quiet spot by the wall and toss your drink.

You really, really want to smoke.

That sounds like a great idea, actually. It’ll get you out of this hellhole for a bit, give you a fix you need and there might be a wall or something to perch on and rest your aching feet. True, you’ll be out in the blazing hot sunshine in all black, but sacrifices must be made.

You send a quick text to Jen and disappear out of there – the venue is strictly no smoking but you’re pretty sure if you nip around the back, there won’t be a problem. You can guarantee some of the stall owners find somewhere to get a nicotine fix, running a stand in a crowded, noisy hellhole like this for nine hours straight.

What you don’t notice is eyes tracking you across the room, and you’ve already rounded the corner of the venue when Homelander stands up and claps his hands, announcing the Seven are taking a quick break and they’ll be right back to finish off the signing, folks!

Cheers and groans swell up in equal measure, but before anybody has any time to protest (though none of the Seven seem to mind this announcement), he’s already vanished through the emergency exit.

Blissfully, you stretch your legs out as you have another suck on your vape. Your instincts were right on the money – you didn’t find a handy wall, but there’s a staff-only door with a couple of stairs that you’ve sat down on. If anybody comes outside, it’ll probably be people working for SupeCon and god knows they probably need a cigarette break more than you do.

Anyway, it’s not like there are any signs back here that say “No Smoking”. An implication is not a concrete rule.

"Smoking's bad for your health, you know."

You jolt and look around, even though you already know who that voice belongs to.

They say famous people always look smaller up close, but in Homelander's case it's the exact opposite. He looks bigger if anything, perhaps it's the way his cape sways importantly behind him or the eagle epaulettes give his silhouette a severe, angular look, but while a few minutes ago you were alone, now it's like you're in a crowded room all over again. You lower your vape.

What the hell is he doing back here? Somehow you don’t think Homelander wanted to get away for a quick nicotine fix before he returns to his adoring public. You stand up, not wanting to be stuck crouching on the steps while he looms over you.

"So." Homelander says, popping his lips. "Not to sound too forward, but I couldn't help but notice you earlier. You, ah, stick out a bit in there, even brooding over there by the wall."

"They do say that, yeah." you deadpan, rubbing your lips together where there's still a lingering taste of your flavoured smoke.

He's looking at you strangely - though Homelander is smiling, there's something flat about it, like it's just something he does while on standby. There's no genuine feeling behind it at all - it doesn't match the look in his eyes, and somehow despite the warm sunshine bearing down on you, suddenly you feel a little chilly. Perhaps he doesn’t appreciate jokes.

His eyes pointedly run down your outfit, and you glance down reflexively too - you're not the only person wearing black in there, but most of the people who are are the ones dripping in Black Noir merch. You're the only person you've seen who isn't wearing any colour or even a hint of Supe gear. Plus you were standing directly in Homelander's line of vision, even if you figured the hundreds of people inbetween you and him would be more than sufficient to hide you. And he'd been so busy dramatically signing every Homelander-related item shoved under his nose that the notion he'd bother noticing a single person in such a big crowd was honestly baffling to you.

Is he coming onto me?

Yeah, right. Homelander, the most baseball games and apple pie person in existence, the All-American boy himself, hitting on a random goth chick?

"Oh?" you reply, wondering where he was going with this.

He tilts his head, looking down at you and you're reminded of a bird of prey staring down a mouse. It makes you straighten your back - you're free to do what you want, and if you don't want to drink the Vought Kool-Aid everybody else here seems to have, what difference does it make to him? It's almost like he's offended there isn't one person here desperate to bask in his presence. It's not as if you've ever disliked Homelander (though he isn't helping his case presently), it's just none of this is you.

"Not a fan of Supes?" he asks lightly, but there's a mocking note in his voice that surprises you. Normally he sounds as rehearsed as those action figures of his. "Does saving lives bore you? Hm? Is that why you came here, to show us all how different and unique you are? Tickets aren't cheap - seems a lot of money for a normal person to spend on not caring."

"My friend asked me to come." you reply, a little defensively, which is ridiculous. Why should you feel the need to explain yourself to Homelander? It's none of his fucking business. "Look, it’s not that I didn’t get in line because I don’t think saving lives matters or anything, I just-“

“You just don’t want to talk to…what was it? Oh, right, a ‘Vought Barbie-doll bearing their teeth at you’?” Homelander says, and shame prickles your skin to have your own words thrown back at you. He steps a little closer and you can smell him – some fancy cologne that probably costs more than your entire outfit put together, plus a sort of woodsy smell like pine trees. You can’t even detect a hint of sweat – apparently sweating is below such beings.

You make a sound, a sort of scoff of disbelief. This can’t really be happening, can it?

“Look, I’m not…I never said I don’t think what you actually do is important. But this?” you wave a hand in the general direction of the Con. “All the pomp and circumstance? Yeah, not my scene.”

“Too bright for your dark tastes, huh?” Homelander says, and is it you or is his voice pitched a little lower than before? It sounds rougher for sure, like stone scraping against stone.

You press your lips together, because can’t think of anything to say to that. It’s pretty obvious he’s not going to be mollified and you’re not apologising to him – if he can’t let go of a little comment made by a total stranger, that’s his burden to bear. You just want to go home. So, you stuff your vape back into your pocket and turn to leave, blowing tutti-frutti flavoured smoke out of the corner of your mouth. You’re tired and hungry and you just want to get out of here and go to lunch.

Unfortunately for you, Homelander seems to have other ideas.

His hand suddenly shoots out and grabs your wrist, tugging your arm out straight, making you stumble forwards – he damn near yanks you right off your feet. He does it so fast you don't have time to react at first, then your eyes narrow in bewilderment.

"Hey-!" you protest, and try to squirm free, but his fingers lock around your wrist. It's like trying to pull your arm out of a steel door and the most insulting thing of all is that Homelander isn't really trying - it's like somebody effortlessly pinching the neck of a kitten to make them go limp. He looks calmer now that he’s caught you off guard, shooting you an amused little smirk. You go still.

"Looks like you're a fan of ink," Homelander says, his eyes tracing up and down the tattoos on your body. Distantly you remember that he has X-ray vision and heat surges to your cheeks - is he-?

But his next words make you go still.

"Since you didn’t have anything for me to sign…I suppose I can make do.”

Easily holding you still just by one arm, he tugs out a Sharpie that was apparently nestling against his hip, held there by his belt, and whips it out, tugging the cap off with his teeth. You catch a glimpse of the side of the pen - it's permanent ink.

"What the fuck-?!"

He ignores your protests, no doubt your squirms are so ineffectual to him you might as well be trying to break down a door with a feather, and he begins writing on you. He's careful not to accidentally tear your fragile skin with the force of the pen, but a shiver goes shooting down your arm as the chilly tip of the pen glides across your forearm, breaking out in goosebumps. You feel like you’re watching this happen from far away, somehow, disengaged from the situation now that you know you can’t run away.

It doesn't take long, only a few seconds, but for you those moments stretch on, elastic as a rubber band being pulled tight before someone releases it. When he's finished, he lets go and you jerk your arm back like it's been burned.

Homelander's autograph is still wet with ink, but already you can see the darker spots being absorbed into your skin - it takes up the entirety of your forearm, written in huge, looping scrawl. You can only stare at it in disbelief - how long is this going to take to wash off? Probably weeks, even if you do scrub it every day with soap or a body scrub or whatever the fuck else you might have to use to get rid of it. You look back up at Homelander, who has already put the pen away. He's grinning at you broadly now, but his fangs are bared and you want to step back from him. You only don't because there's a wall right behind you and you have the perverse thought that looking like you want to run away might excite him.

"You know, I always thought tattoos looked a little…trashy." Homelander confides with a smirk, and his eyes travel up and down the length of your body in a way that would be indecent even without knowing he can see straight through your clothes if he so pleases. "Especially on pretty girls like you, even if you hide it under all that. But I guess it's all about finding ones that suit you best, isn't it? Maybe you can get that made into a real one."

Your jaw drops at the absolute fucking gall. If it were anyone else you probably would have thrown hands with him right now, because who the fuck does he think he is?

But you already know that. He's The Homelander. The best-case scenario is you'd break your hand on him. Worst case?

You don't want to think about what the worst-case scenario might be. You might like dark things, but this is different.

“Well?” Homelander nudges and you continue to stare at him, bewildered. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?”

The air seems to shiver with tension and you nervously lick your lips, uncaring that you’re still wearing lipstick. You’re stalling and he knows it.

“Homelander!”

Before you can even begin to formulate some kind of reply that fulfills the requirements without actually having to say the words, a woman in an absolutely hideous pantsuit comes running up to him and he rolls his eyes, turning to her.

“For fuck’s sake, Ashley, what is it now?” he says, and if he hadn’t just forcefully scribbled all over your skin and demanded you thank him for it ten seconds ago.

You recognise an opportunity when you see one and take that moment to beat it, trying not to run, but in the end you can’t help it, holding your arm to your body like you’ve broken it. You know Homelander is watching you – you can feel his eyes on your back, but you don’t turn around.

As you hurry back entrance hall, you spot Jen, who is now laden down with bags of stuff.

“There you are!” she says. “God, my legs are aching from standing around, but I’m all done! I’m thinking Applebee’s…are you okay? You look a bit clammy.”

“Yeah,” you say, dropping your arm and pressing it to your side. The signature is big, but it’s on the inside of your arm. If you take care to keep it hidden under a booth or against your side, hopefully Jen won’t see it. You don’t feel like explaining how you got it. “Just hungry.”

“Same here. Come on, I think I parked in Bay C…”

You follow Jen out, silently sending up a thanks to whoever might be listening that she’s happy to leave now, that she doesn’t think to ask you any further questions. She’s in her little Supe bubble and you’re not going to pop it. Especially not if you know Homelander can hear you.

Especially if you know he might still be watching you.

“Fuckin’ assholes.”

That was Homelander’s assessment of the day. Oh, he’d smiled for pictures, he’d signed the mass-produced bullshit people pushed at him and he’d answered questions about a silly movie he barely remembered making. Such trivialities that Vought deemed worthy of his time. But anything for the fans, right?

He popped the top off a carton of milk he had awaiting him in his apartment, not even bothering with a glass as he chugged the stuff down, cool and sweet and delicious against his parched throat. As he drank, the one spot of entertainment of the day floated to the surface of his mind.

Namely, the face of that little goth girl when he’d grabbed her arm, the way she immediately stilled when he started writing his name on her skin. For all the weary sighing and under-her-breath snark, there would be nothing she could do about his name branded across her skin like that. It would fade in time, of course, but he got a distinct fission of satisfaction knowing she’d be thinking of him, whether she wanted to or not, every time she looked down at it.

Even if she covered it with black clothes, they’d both know it was there. Like a little secret.

Lazily, almost absently, he started undoing the front of his suit, one-handed, fishing out his already hardening cock. Setting the milk aside, he braced himself against the wall as he started to jerk it in some frantic pumps of his hand, overcome with the memory of her, the whiff of her Vape and the hitching of breath when he touched her. Homelander moaned throatily and threw his head back, imagining how it might feel to put his name on the girl permanently, to ink himself on someone who thought they were o very removed from the world he inhabited – no, not inhabited – ruled. She was just as much something to amuse him as everyone else.

As few more frantic jerks made him come, a hot, pleasing flush after a long, boring day of pageantry and ennui.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, with a smile, lashes casting shadows across his cheeks with his eyes closed in bliss.

Perhaps there was something to be said about tattoos after all.

The water hisses as you scrub and scrub and scrub, foamy white bubbles dribbling down your arm and splashing back into the sink.

Nothing. The Homelander signature is still there, gleaming starkly in the dim lighting of your bathroom. You’ve been working away at it for hours now, but whatever pen he used is apparently an excellent quality one. You're just thankful Jen was too hyper from meeting her idols to notice you were suddenly doing everything one-handed.

But an idea comes to you as you stare resentfully at your reflection, gingerly patting your arm (which is sore now from hours of scrubbing and soaking it) – if you can’t get it off you and you’ll have to live with it for a couple of weeks, the best thing to do seems obvious.

Namely, improve it.

So you hurry into your room and start fishing through your desk drawers until you find it – another Sharpie, one you have ironically brought to gigs with you before for bands to sign if you can get them alone for a minute. But it will serve another purpose tonight.

Tugging the cap off with your teeth, you lie your arm flat on your desk and hover the pen over Homelander’s name.

Very carefully you make your adjustment, grinning around the cap as you do.

A second later and it’s done. The word Homelander is still there – except that the ‘m’ is blocked out with a black star, so now it actually reads “Ho★elander.”

“How’s that one for trashy, asshole?” you mutter to yourself, a surge of petty glee rising up in you like sap oozing forth from a tree, savagely pleased with your handiwork.

As you flop onto your bed, a line pops into your head, and despite what a long, bizarre day it’s been, you laugh and say out loud;

“I went to SupeCon, and all I got was this lousy autograph.”

#Homelander x Reader #Homelander x You #Blogging #Writings #The Boys (2019)#Homelander being Homelander #Mild smut

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raspberryfingers · 1 year

Text

A Lion in the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part 18)

WARNING: Miscarriage, blood

Just a small note ahead of time, because I know that miscarriages are a sensitive subject. They are so common, and it’s something I wanted to touch upon, because they’re often ignored in media despite that. Becoming a mother isn’t always immediate, or easy for that matter, and I feel it’s important to acknowledge that. This is especially true in the GOT universe where it likely would’ve happened much more often. However, given that it is sensitive, please do not feel compelled to read this chapter if you think it will in any way, shape, or form be triggering for you. You will still be able to read the next chapter without any confusion if you decide to skip this one, so please keep that in mind. —————

“So you’re the high sparrow then?”

The man sitting before me in the cells was absolutely filthy, and if I was honest, did not appear to be much of a leader.

“That is what they call me, yes,” he said, giving a gentle smile. I nodded, glancing at Ser Elias and motioning for him to wait outside the door while I spoke to the man.

“Based on your dress, I’m going to assume that you’re (Y/N) Tyrell,” he said, watching me sit down on a small stool that I’d brought with me. I normally wouldn’t have cared, but Tywin had gifted me this dress, and I didn’t want to ruin it.

“And why couldn’t I be Margaery?” I questioned, crossing my legs and placing my hands in my lap.

“The dress is cream with red roses and gold details,” he observed, making me raise an eyebrow.

“Yes it is, why does that matter?”

“I should think you of all people would be familiar with the rumors that you and Tywin Lannister are romantically involved,” he said with a slight laugh, causing me to be slightly irritated. I decided it was best to ignore him.

“The reason I’m here, your holiness, is because I’m curious. What kind of man creates a group willing to parade people through the streets naked?” I questioned, leaning forward as I looked down at him.

“A reasonable one, I’d like to think.”

“Or one who craves power given to him through fear.”

“Fear?”

“Forcing someone who indulges and commits what you believe to be ‘sins’ to walk the city naked creates fear,” I said, watching him smile and shake his head.

“It is not to create any sort of fear, Lady (Y/N). It is to repent for the sin,” he tried to excuse, making me scoff at the man’s sheer audacity.

“If you truly believed in repentance, I should think you would try to help people find a better lifestyle naturally, by removing that action from their life. Not by humiliating them,” I replied, watching him think of a reply.

“It is how the gods made us.”

“And yet even you do not walk naked, high sparrow. Whether you believe it or not, your motive is to inspire fear.”

“You disapprove quite adamantly. I wonder if there’s a reason for that,” he said suggestively, implying that perhaps I only disliked it because I was afraid of being forced to do it myself. I began to laugh.

“No, no, it’s not that. The last thing parading me naked would do is inspire fear. The reason I disapprove is because I feel it fundamentally goes against morality. If the gods are so just, why don’t you trust them to punish those that deserve it in their own time?” I questioned, wondering if perhaps behind all the nonsense there was a sliver of reason.

“We merely try to help them find a better path sooner rather than later.”

“And who are you to determine what that better path is? Plenty of ‘sinners’ lead much better lives, much kinder lives than those who claim to be devout and religious,” I said with a scoff, knowing that faith and opinion often became one.

“You’re correct, I won’t deny it. But there are also all those in between.”

“Care to list any examples, your holiness?”

“Homosexuality, for example. It is an insult to the way the gods made us,” he said rather quickly, picking up on the way my eye twitched. I was certain he knew that targeting Loras was inevitably going to rile me up.

“The way the gods made us? If they hadn’t wanted it, they wouldn’t even have given us the thought. Unless you would admit that the gods make mistakes, then they’ve created many of us with different preferences than others.”

“A preference? No. It is a disease, my lady. One we must root out.”

“I cannot say I agree, high sparrow. If you asked every man alive who his ideal woman was, very few would give the same answer. In that sense, there are some men who would not like a woman at all. I’ve had this discussion before with another, though it was not so tedious as this.”

The high sparrow scoffed and shook his head, smiling to himself.

“Well, even if homosexuality weren’t a sin, intercourse out of marriage most certainly is. That is why the high septon was punished, as he of all people should know that,” he claimed, hands folded in his lap. It was an odd stance, and quite calm for a man who would get his head cut off in less than an hour.

“The high septon was in a brothel. If you beat and stripped every man in the city who’d ever gone to a brothel or had intercourse out of marriage there wouldn’t be a single person with clothes on,” I said, beginning to laugh.

“And that includes Tywin Lannister, doesn’t it?” He asked with a grin, trying to find a weakness perhaps. No, I would not let him use it against me.

“Yes, it certainly does. I’m not going to deny it, Lord Tywin and I have been sleeping together for quite some time now. I don’t regret it, and I don’t believe it’s a sin,” I said simply, watching the man’s face twist in surprise.

“You don’t believe it’s a sin?”

“No, why would it be? As you said, the gods gave us our bodies, and with them they gave us pleasure,” I said with a smile, finding it ridiculous that so many people often made such a fuss about sex as if it wasn’t something all of us enjoyed.

“The purpose of it is to show our loyalty and devotion to them by resisting the urge until marriage,” he replied, somewhat annoyed by my perspective.

“We show our loyalty and devotion by praying and building great septs and grand churches. What kind of ‘just’ gods would purposely give us something to fail at? I think we ought to enjoy the lives they’ve given us and do our best to be good people,” I explained, wondering if he could at least agree with the last sentiment.

“You are at least correct in that. It’s important to love everyone around you equally, even those that might be deemed as ‘below’ you,” he remarked with a gentle grin. I knew what he was suggesting, however.

“I know you believe all nobles to be selfish and unaware, and I won’t deny that most of us certainly are. I won’t even deny that I myself have recoiled at the poor. This doesn’t mean that I don’t care for them, though. What I do politically is, after my own family’s benefit, for the realm. Why do you think I ended the war with Robb Stark? We easily could’ve crushed him, yet I met with him because I knew it would restore general peace and allow thousands of men to return home to their families. I’ve also been ensuring that the Tyrell lands feed this city, lest you forget,” I told him, not liking to be accused falsely. I would own up for my flaws, but I would not accept lies.

“You manage those funds? Not your grandmother or father?” He questioned, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“I’ve begun to, yes. Once my father is dead, I’m to show Loras how to do it. My grandmother would prefer I handle things until that day comes, however,” I said, watching him nod.

“Quite impressive of you. The Nightshade of the Garden is very well rounded, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is. Thank you for speaking with me, high sparrow. It has been interesting to speak with you,” I said, feeling quite done with the man.

“Of course, Lady (Y/N). Seven blessings to you.”

“And to you. I hope you’ll give the gods my regard,” I said with a slight smile. It was both sarcastic and genuine, somehow.

He gave me a nod, and I left the cell slightly irked. There was something strange about the man, as he made such repulsive and unfortunate remarks so calmly and happily. I had no doubt in my mind that my family would’ve been targeted had Tywin not had him arrested so immediately, and suddenly I was glad that he had done so.

Seven blessings to the high sparrow, indeed.

—————

Tywin had been right, the people of king's landing had cheered when the high sparrow’s head detached from his body.

The end of his short reign, if one should even call it that. I was glad it hadn’t grown into anything serious, and I was glad Tywin had handled it effectively.

So long as it kept my siblings safe, I didn’t care what it took. And speaking of which, I was currently on my way to go see Margaery.

I’d had dinner with her upon my return, but it had been more than a week since then, and now that I’d had the stitches taken out of my wound I was a bit more free to move around.

Ser Elias had offered to escort me, but I was certain it was fine. I was grateful I had kept the cane from about a year and a half ago.

Gods, had it really been that long since the battle of Blackwater?

I reached Margaery’s room, knocking on the door. There was no response, and I found it rather odd. She always came back to her room after lunch.

I reached for the door handle, and finding that it was open, I slowly pushed it open.

I found her laying on her bed, eyes shut but breathing fast enough that I could tell she was awake.

“Are you alright, Margaery?” I asked, closing the door behind me. She opened her eyes and sighed.

“I’ve been feeling somewhat ill all day. I was hoping to get a bit of sleep, but I haven’t been able to,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

I nodded, sitting down in one of the chairs by her table.

“What are you feeling?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t anything serious. An odd look passed over her face, almost as if she herself was trying to figure something out.

“I’m a bit tired and nauseous. There’s pain in my lower back, too, but I imagine I just slept oddly,” she reasoned, which made decent enough sense to me.

“Well, I hope it goes away,” I said, pouring myself a glass of wine. She nodded and sighed again, clearly uncomfortable.

“The high sparrow was beheaded this morning, wasn’t he?” She questioned, looking over at me as I looked around the room. It felt messier than usual.

“Yes, he was. I spoke with him beforehand, too. He was quite opinionated, even if there was certainly a lack of logic in it,” I said with a soft laugh, making Margaery shake her head.

“People like that always make me so nervous. They can’t be convinced no matter what you tell them,” she said with a scoff.

“No, they certainly can’t. He and I certainly had quite the debate,” I told her, fidgeting with part of my dress. Margaery inhaled sharply, looking as if she might throw up, but then returned to normal a few moments later.

“Apologies, what did you two debate?” She asked, coming back to herself again.

“He tried to prod about homosexuality, which of course was a dig at Loras. I didn’t let that stand, however, so his next insult was about sex out of marriage. He seemed to think that Lord Tywin and I were having intimate relations too,” I said, making Margaery laugh softly.

“The gods always know the truth, (Y/N). I don’t know why you still deny it.”

“It’s not the truth. Gods forbid the people of King's Landing see a man and a woman interact with each other in a way that isn’t romantic,” I pretended, knowing damn well the people of King's Landing had been correct about Tywin and I before we even knew it.

“Of course, that’s what it is, you-“ Margaery smiled and began to tease, but suddenly ceased to speak, and I watched her press her hands into her abdomen.

“Margaery?” I asked, rising from my chair and moving over to her. She didn’t look well. She gripped onto my arm then, and I reached under her.

“Let’s get you to a maester, hm? I’m certain it’s nothing,” I said, trying to reassure her. She nodded, and I helped her up.

We made it halfway across the room, and then I felt the strength fade from her arms. She fell to the floor, one hand clutching the cold stone and the other on her stomach.

“(Y/N)… h-help,” she gasped out, making my eyes widened. I had no idea what was happening, let alone what to do.

I got down beside her, placing a hand on her back and trying to figure out what was going on.

“What hurts, Margaery? Where?” I questioned, watching as she clutched her lower stomach and began to cry.

“Are you menstruating? You get quite bad cramps sometimes,” I reasoned, recalling all the times the maesters had given her milk of the poppy growing up.

“N-No, I’m not,” she said quietly, still trying to handle all the pain.

“You’re certain?”

“Yes! I’m pregnant,” she gasped out, making my eyes go wide.

Pregnant?

Who was I kidding, of course she was pregnant. I knew my grandmother had given her a talk about striking quickly and cementing herself as queen, but I just… I didn’t quite expect it.

Nothing ever could have prepared me to see my sister get married and have kids. In my head she was always just my younger sister, someone to protect and comfort. It was easy to forget that she was advancing in her life much faster than I was.

With all that aside, though, I wracked my brain trying to figure out what could be happening if it wasn’t menstrual cramps.

Just then, I saw blood begin to emerge from under her skirt, and it all clicked in my head.

Oh gods.

When I looked over at Margaery, she had a numb look on her face for a moment, and then she began to sob.

“Y-(Y/N)… help, help me. My baby… my baby,” she cried out, still desperately holding her abdomen. I was beginning to panic, I had not a single clue what to do when a woman was having a miscarriage.

“I need to get a maester, Margaery. I’m going to get a maester,” I whispered, and she shook her head vehemently.

“No! N-No… I don’t want people to know… they can’t know,” she sobbed. My heart broke. I didn’t want to imagine what kind of gossip would circulate if people were to find out.

“Well I need to go get someone… I need to find someone. My chambermaid, she’ll know… she’ll know what to do,” I said, trying to reassure myself just as much as I was trying to reassure Margaery.

“Stay… stay, please,” Margaery cried, holding onto me. I pressed her face into my chest as she wept, and I tried to rock her back and forth. I was still shaking.

“I’m so sorry, Margaery, I’m so sorry,” I whispered, wishing I could’ve known sooner. Maybe there was something we could’ve done. Deep down I knew the answer to that, though.

All she could do was sob into my arms, and I found myself petting her hair. My sister was having a miscarriage and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

My, the gods were so cruel.

I felt my heart sink. Was this my punishment for challenging the high sparrow?

I buried my face in Margaery’s hair, kissing her head and trying to soothe her as her sobs grew louder.

I was trying to create a plan. I needed to find Cerella, she would know how to help Margaery physically and make certain nothing else was wrong.

But I also needed to clean up all the blood from the floor, and I had no idea where to start.

“Margaery, can you stand? I want to get you to the bed, sweetie,” I whispered, wrapping my arms all the way around her. Slowly, I helped her rise, grabbing at her skirts so they wouldn’t get even bloodier than they already were. The pain in my thigh was horrible, but I ignored it completely. There were more important matters now.

I helped her to lay down on the bed, letting her clutch a pillow for comfort. I then ran to the door, opening it just enough to stick my head out.

Instantly, I found two maids chatting with each other as they walked about the halls.

“Ladies! I need urgent help, please. Can one of you find Cerella and the other fetch a bucket of water? It truly is an emergency. Please tell Cerella to bring medicine,” I said, to which they instantly nodded and ran off in a hurry. I sighed out as I closed the door again, searching the room and finding a few towels that I could use to clean once everything else was dealt with.

I made my way over to Margaery again, sitting beside her on the bed. She sat up, embracing me and crying into my shoulder.

“I am so sorry, Margaery. I’m so, so sorry. I wish I could take the pain for you,” I muttered, truly wishing she didn’t have to go through this.

“I know, (Y/N), I know,” she whispered, still shaking in my arms. Or perhaps we were both shaking, it was hard to tell.

Just then, the door opened behind us and I found Cerella coming in with both a bucket of water and a small bag. She instantly saw the blood on the floor and saw Margaery crying into my arms, making her close the door rather quickly.

She set the water down, rushing over to us.

“What happened?” She asked softly, looking Margaery over but not spotting any obvious wound.

I motioned for her to lean down, and subtly explained what had happened. She nodded sympathetically.

“There’s nothing we can do, Lady Margaery, but I can give you milk of the poppy for the pain and perhaps essence of nightshade to help you sleep,” Cerella offered, to which Margaery nodded and sniffled.

Cerella poured out the dosages and gave them to her, watching as I continued to pet Margaery’s hair until she fell asleep.

When we were certain she was no longer conscious, I went into her wardrobe and brought out her sleeping gown, carefully putting her into it with Cerella’s help. Afterwards, took her bloodied dress and sighed.

“Burn the dress, Cerella. That much blood won’t come out, and I don’t want to leave any evidence behind. Do it now, I’ll tend to the floor myself,” I said, watching her swallow and nod.

“If you need assistance with anything else, my lady, please let me know.”

“I will, thank you very much for helping my sister. She didn’t want a maester, she was worried people would find out,” I explained, leaning down and kissing my sister's forehead as I tucked her under the covers.

“I understand, my lady. I’ll go burn the dress now,” she said, excusing herself once I’d nodded and leaving me alone with Margaery.

When she was gone, I began to cry. I’d spent a lifetime attempting to bring joy and comfort into my siblings' lives just to realize that there was nothing I could do to prevent them from trauma and pain was a startling thought. I could not protect Loras from marriage, I could not protect Margaery from this.

I wanted more than anything to take this pain away from Margaery, and I realized then I ought to send a raven to Highgarden. It would be beneficial for my grandmother to be here, as Margaery relied on her more than anyone.

Plus, I would not be able to give her the comfort and help necessary due to my constant involvement in politics and such. Yes, I would send for my grandmother.

With a sigh, I made my way across the room, grabbing the towels I’d set aside and getting down on my knees. First, I soaked up the blood on the floor, knowing if I used water first it would cause an even bigger mess.

There was so much blood I could not comprehend it, and I had to close my eyes and bite my lip to keep myself from sobbing too loudly. I continued to cry as I cleaned it up, feeling such a distinct pain in knowing I’d been unable to ensure my siblings’ happiness.

In my own way, I also grieved the lost child. I’d always imagined myself doing quite well with Loras or Margaery’s children, and if I’d known she was pregnant in any other circumstance I would’ve been overjoyed.

I found myself disassociating as I finished wiping the blood away, and my hands were shaking without my consciousness. The blood had stained the tile, and I let some of the water pour onto the floor, using a new towel to now clean the tile.

It took more than an hour to remove the blood completely, and I felt exhausted when I had finished. Thankfully, Margaery had slept through the whole thing, and Cerella had come back to check on us.

“Is there anything else you need help with? I can take the bucket and burn the towels too,” she offered, to which I nodded and sighed, sitting down and rubbing my sore knees. I drank my wine with a tremor in my hand, hoping to numb myself a bit further.

“I’d like to have new flowers brought in. Bright ones. And perhaps summon Ser Elias, I’d like to rearrange some of the furniture. I want to alter the room so that she won’t think of it every time she’s in here,” I said, to which Cerella nodded and instantly set off with the towels and bucket.

I remained in the room for the rest of the day, and when Margaery had woken later in the afternoon, the furniture had already been fixed and flowers had already been added. Though she cried, I could tell she was grateful.

I helped her drink and eat, though it was not very much. Either way, I took it upon myself to help her through this however I could.

When it grew late, I stayed in her room and slept beside her in her own bed. I suspected Tywin would question where I was tomorrow, but that was a matter I would handle then and not now.

Now, the only thing that mattered to me was my sister, fast asleep in my arms, just as she had been when we were children and she’d had nightmares.

Though, I wished it had been a nightmare. I wished I could wake her and tell her all was well.

But no, the gods had not been so kind. It seemed they never were.

—————

I’d returned to my room late in the morning, having already written to my grandmother and helped Margaery get dressed. She went to the gardens with Ser Elias, and I couldn’t blame her for wanting to get out of the room and into the fresh air.

I spent the majority of the day reading and trying to blur out what had happened. Every time I lost my train of thought, the image came back and I forced myself to keep going.

By the time the sun had set, I’d finished the book I hadn’t been able to complete for weeks now. It was with a reluctant sigh that I had called upon Cerella to draw a bath for me.

More than anything, I was just enjoying the warm water and trying to clear my head. Cerella had offered to stay and help me bathe, but I told her I’d do it all myself.

Of course, the second I got into the bath, there was a knock upon the door.

“Lady (Y/N)?”

The voice was unmistakably Tywin’s, and I smiled as I settled into the water.

“Enter!”

The door opened and then closed, and I watched him step into the room and look around. He gave me a gentle smile when he saw me in the bathtub. Without a word, I watched him remove his coat and his ascot, coming to sit on the floor beside the tub.

“I can wash your hair, if you’d like,” he offered, lifting the hand I was resting on the side of the tub to his lips.

“That would be very nice, Tywin. Thank you,” I said softly, leaning my head back a bit as he rolled up his sleeves and got to work wetting my hair.

“I used to do this for Joanna. I did it quite a lot, actually. She always had such long hair, it was hard for her to do it herself,” he revealed, adding in the soap to my hair.

“And why not have her chambermaids do it? Surely that would’ve been more proper,” I questioned, teasing slightly but also curious.

“A man ought to be able to care for his wife. Or his lover,” he remarked, adding more water to my hair and massaging my scalp a bit. It felt good, and it helped relieve the headache I’d had practically for two days now.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here last night, I was with Margaery. She was rather sentimental, I think she may be missing our grandmother,” I said after a moment, certain he was going to ask about it. It was a lie, and for once I felt it sounded like one.

“It’s quite fine. What did you two discuss?” He asked. Yes, he seemed to think it was a lie as well.

“We… we discussed-“

“You’re lying. I know you were with Margaery, our chambermaid told me that much. But you’re lying, I can tell,” he noted, finished with my hair and now merely sitting beside me.

“Your head is probably jumping to hurtful conclusions, but it wasn’t anything like that. I’m not avoiding you, or speaking poorly of you. I just- I promised Margaery I wouldn’t speak of it to anyone,” I said, slowly washing my skin. I did not miss the look over Tywin was giving me.

“If you’re concerned with rumors spreading, you have my word. I trust you more than any of my own children, (Y/N). You know that,” he said, reaching for my towel and wrapping me in it as I stood up.

“I’m aware of that, and it’s not a matter of trust. I trust you with nearly all of my secrets, Tywin, you know that. But the reason I was with Margaery yesterday isn’t for me to share with you,” I said, making him raise an eyebrow.

“Nearly all of your secrets?”

“Well, a woman must stay somewhat mysterious. There are things you know that not even my family does,” I admitted, watching his curiosity be piqued.

“Such as?”

“My family’s never heard me sing before,” I said, which was truthful. I feared it might ruin my reputation.

“You told me you sang with Jaime’s man when the three of you were in Dorne,” he said, clearly a bit jealous. I laughed softly.

“He had a good voice, why shouldn’t I? You know me better than anyone else, Tywin. That’s the point I’m making,” I assured him, slipping into my undergarments and then into my nightgown.

“I will take your word for it. Just know, if you do want to discuss whatever happened yesterday, I’m all ears,” he said while removing his boots. I was glad he’d be staying tonight, I felt I needed it.

“Well, rest assured I won’t be telling you about it any time-“ my voice trailed off as I looked down.

I began to cry.

Tywin was instantly by my side when he realized, trying to figure out what was happening.

“What’s wrong, my dear?”

After a moment, he noticed the blood coming through my undergarments and relaxed a bit. My monthly had come, and though to him it appeared normal, it felt like very bad timing considering what had just happened.

“It’s your monthly, isn’t it? No need to cry over that,” he said, searching my drawers for fresh undergarments. When I continued to cry, he looked back over.

“It is your monthly, isn’t it?” He asked. There was a hint of fear in his voice, and I realized then he was considering the possibility that I was having a miscarriage.

“It’s my monthly, don’t- don’t worry,” I choked out, sitting down on the ottoman and sobbing into my hands. He sat down beside me, hand on my back.

“What’s wrong, (Y/N)? Please tell me,” he whispered, cupping my cheek so I would look at him. I buried my head into his shoulder, still feeling overwhelmed.

“Margaery had a- a miscarriage yesterday. I s-shouldn’t be telling you that, but I can’t stop thinking about it,” I cried, feeling his arms wrap around me as he held me close.

“Oh sweet girl. My condolences to both of you, it’s not easy to overcome,” he said softly, petting my hair.

“It happened while I was with her, Tywin. I’d initially gone over just to talk with her, and then- and then her pain got worse and she began to bleed. And maybe if I’d- if I’d figured it out quicker or acted faster she wouldn’t have… she wouldn’t have…” I couldn’t finish my sentence, I was crying too much at this point. I felt a deep guilt about what had happened, as if I should’ve been able to prevent the event.

“(Y/N), it’s not your fault. The gods take children from us the same way we pick flowers from bushes. At that point, there was nothing you could’ve done,” he reassured me, placing a kiss on my head.

“I just- I feel as though I’ve failed her. My entire life- my entire life, I’ve dedicated myself to protecting my siblings, to keeping them safe and happy. I just- I hate knowing that there are things I can’t protect them from anymore,” I expressed, still crying as he held me.

“I know, sweet girl. Trust me, I know, and I’m sorry,” he muttered, rocking me gently.

“I wish I could take the pain for her, physically and emotionally. I wish I could take all my siblings' burdens for them,” I said softly, truly wanting to do so.

“Margaery will obviously need time to recover, but she’s as capable as you are. I feel confident that she will come back just as you do, resiliently and even stronger,” he assured me, cupping my face in both of his hands.

I nodded, letting him wipe my tears and kiss me sweetly.

“Did Tommen know she was pregnant?” I asked softly, not sure what the situation was.

“I don’t believe anyone did, otherwise announcements would’ve been made and I certainly would’ve known. I won’t tell him, if Margaery wishes to I’ll let her do it,” he said, knowing why I was asking. It wouldn’t have been logical to not tell him first if he’d already known, but if he hadn’t known to begin with, then I suspected Margaery would want to keep it to herself.

“I don’t want people to find out. Ever.”

“I understand, (Y/N). Now here, change so we can go to sleep,” he said, handing me the clean undergarments. I nodded, changing and preparing them as needed so I wouldn’t bleed through. Tywin removed his boots and shirt as I did, I was met with a pleasant surprise upon turning around.

“You’re so handsome, Tywin,” I whispered, stepping toward him and kissing his forehead. His hands came to my hips, and he leaned into me for a moment. After that, I felt him pick me up, and I squealed slightly as he carried me to bed, setting me down with a gentle smile.

I watched carefully as he made his way around the room, extinguishing most of the candles before coming to bed and finally removing his pants. Now only in his undergarments, he joined me under the covers and pulled my back into his chest..

“You’re a wonderful sister, (Y/N), never forget that. You’ve always defended your family more passionately than anything else, so don’t blame yourself for what’s happened,” he whispered, nuzzling into my neck.

“And who should I blame then?” I questioned. For a moment, he was silent.

“Blame a god we do not follow in Westeros.”

I nodded, aware of the many faced god that had a decent following in Essos. I couldn’t blame them, for it was a fact that death was inevitable. Or, as they liked to say: Valar Morghulis

All men must die.

As I felt Tywin shift behind me, my heart sank. Could the many faced god take another god? Or, a god among men, it seemed.

Yes, he certainly could. Though, whenever he decided to do it, he would receive two souls, not just one. I would make sure of that when the day came.

TAGLIST:

@cheyxfu @lemonscoffee @groovy-lady

@ladysindar @vesta-ro @exo-nova @paola-carter

@prettykinkysoul @nothing2113

@fullmoonshadowwrites @kishie8

@the-desilittle-bird @dianilaws @girlonfireice @muscari-fae @lostgirllulu @abigfanofgameofthrones

#tywin lannister #tywin lannister x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #house lannister #charles dance #tywin x reader #asoiaf #a lion in the garden #margaery tyrell

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hearts-hunger · 2 years

Text

hot stuff || josh kiszka x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: You show Josh just how much you like his new haircut. || Standalone fic in the Cabin Fever universe

Pairings: Josh Kiszka x Fiancée!Reader | Genre: smut, porn without plot; minors begone! , fluff bc i'm incapable of writing something that isn't at least a little bit sweet | Word Count: 1.5k | Warnings: smut (piv, oral [f receiving], unprotected sex, semi-public sex, jullet Josh which deserves its own warning)

A/N: You already know, besties. The jullet has me in a goddamn chokehold. I raise my glass to all the jullet fics that are sure to be flooding the dash and humbly offer this little fic for all your Josh and Baby jullet needs ♡

You almost choked on your drink when you saw your fiancé.

Jake gave you an enthusiastic but less than helpful pounding on the back as you tried to remember how to breathe, laughing as you looked wide-eyed at his twin.

“Don’t hold back, honey. Tell him what you really think.”

Josh just looked at you with the world’s biggest grin, and you had the feeling that this open-mouthed response had been just what he was hoping for.

“You hate it, don’t you?” he teased.

You didn’t know what to say. “I’m... I’m gonna need another drink.”

Josh laughed, his cheeks rosy with an endearing, excited blush.

“That good, huh?” he asked, taking the seat next to you at the bar. Jake, Sparrow, Sam, and Danny were sitting on your other side, eagerly awaiting your response to your fiancé’s new haircut.

“When the hell did you get it cut?” you asked, unable to keep from just looking at the shaggy undercut that was just this side of a mullet. It reminded you of the Highway Tune days, back when you were head over heels for Josh and nobody knew, back when you thought he couldn’t possibly get any more attractive. You almost laughed at how wrong you'd been.

“This afternoon,” he said cheerfully, stealing a sip of your Crown and Coke. “Thought my look needed an update.”

Update was one word for it. Earth-shatteringly sexy haircut was another.

You reached a hand out towards him. “Can I...?”

He gave a sweet laugh. “Of course you can, my love.”

He leaned his head towards you and let you run your fingers through his soft curls, over the fuzzy edge of his undercut. You felt a little lightheaded.

“What do you think?” he asked quietly.

You brushed your thumb over his cheek. “I think I want you to take me to the bathroom of this grimy bar and fuck me senseless.”

It was his turn to be wide-eyed, pulling back to look at you with a delighted grin and a vivid blush. “Really?”

You bit your lip. “Yes, really.”

He downed the rest of your drink and grabbed your hand.

“Uh, we’ll be right back,” he said to your friends as you stood, earning a chorus of cheers and wolf whistles. Your cheeks warmed a little and you gave them a bashful, cheeky smile as Josh all but dragged you to the single bathroom towards the back of the bar.

“Actually, hold on a second,” he said, making a detour towards the jukebox. You waited not-so-patiently for him to return, gaze traveling over him from the bottom of his faded Vans to the top of his gorgeous, mind-numbingly hot head of curls.

Donna Summers’ “Hot Stuff” started to play through the bar as Josh danced back over to you, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Figured I should set the mood,” he said, his grin big and beautiful as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“It’s working,” you said, giving him a quick kiss that told him just how badly you wanted him.

He didn’t waste any time taking you into the bathroom and locking the door behind you, pushing you back until he had you bracketed against the counter. You carded your hands through his hair as he kissed you, deep and eager and so in love with you.

“Should I have kept it a surprise?” he asked, both of you already breathless.

“Only if you were trying to kill me,” you said, pressing as close to him as you could.

He laughed. “What if I was trying to get you all hot and bothered for me?”

“Yeah, that too.”

He got on his knees in front of you, and you almost came then and there from the sight of him looking up at you with those pretty brown eyes.

“Jesus, Josh,” you breathed. “I need you.”

He gave you a wicked smirk. Oh, how you’d missed that cocky frat boy look.

He pushed your skirt up and hooked your leg over his shoulder, opening you up for him as he licked a long, slow stripe over your heat. You leaned your head back and moaned.

“Fuck, baby,” he said, kissing and nipping at your thighs. “You’re so wet for me. Maybe I should get my hair cut more often.”

“Shut up and eat me out,” you begged.

You felt his smile as his facial hair rasped against your inner thigh. “Yes ma’am.”

He set in on you with eager abandon, licking and sucking and making the most obscene noises in the back of his throat. You tugged on his curls, pleading and saying his name over and over as you felt heat curl tight in your belly.

“Josh, please, I’m gonna — ” You cut yourself off with a moan. “Josh, Josh , I’m gonna cum, please — ”

He kept at you through your orgasm, groaning when you pulled his hair. He kissed your thighs as you came down, giving you a chance to catch your breath before he gently put you back on your own two feet.

“Alright?” he asked, sweet and gentle as could be with his face wet with your slick. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and kissed you when he stood, steadying you against him.

“So good, sweetheart,” you breathed. “Thank you. I want you.”

He chuckled. “I’m right here, baby. Use your words and tell me what you want.”

You nearly whined at the feel of him hard against you. “I want you inside me, please.”

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice low and pleased. He kissed your jaw. “Turn around for me.”

You did as he said, leaning over the counter as he smoothed a hand over your hip, drawing your skirt higher. You watched him in the mirror as he unbuckled his belt and pulled himself out, mimicking his expression of pleasure as he gave himself a few slow strokes.

“You’re so good to me, baby,” he said, running his cock between your legs. He took your hips in a light grip, just teasing, and swept your hair to the side to kiss the back of your neck.

“Josh,” you pleaded, pushing back against him.

“Be patient, sweet girl,” he said. “Be good for me.”

You tried, and he took his time running his hands over you. You felt heat rush everywhere he touched, watching the way he bit his lip and groaned when he finally buried himself inside you.

“Holy fuck,” you whimpered, letting your head drop. He filled you so well, big and warm and frustratingly still when all you wanted was for him to fuck you.

“Uh-uh, baby,” he scolded. He tugged on your ponytail and made you tilt your head back up. “Look at how pretty you are with my cock in you.”

You blushed hot and met his eyes in the mirror. He gave you a crooked smile.

“That’s my sweet baby,” he said. “I want you to watch.”

You felt yourself tighten around him, and you loved the way you could see how it made him feel. “Yes, Josh.”

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Good girl.”

He was slow and steady at first, drawing you out again, breathless moans and curses tumbling from his lips. He looked so beautiful like that, his expression colored with pleasure, his curls damp with sweat, the gold hoops in his ears catching the light. You couldn’t bring yourself to miss his fluffy head of curls, not just then — the undercut had always been your favorite of his haircuts, and to have it back with the facial hair that made him look older and more suave made you dizzy with desire for him.

“Josh,” you managed. He met your eyes in the mirror.

“I really love your haircut.”

He smirked. “Thought you might.”

He drove into you harder, bringing you to the edge so fast you saw stars. He gripped your waist and snapped his hips against yours, fast and hard and exactly what you needed.

“Josh, please,” you begged. “I’m gonna — ”

“I know, baby,” he said, his voice tight. “Come for me, love.”

You unraveled completely as he thrust into you again; he followed seconds later, groaning out words of praise and pleasure. As you both came down, you turned back to face him again; he drew you close and held you, kissing all over your face.

“I love you,” he said softly. “I love you very much.”

You smiled and tipped his head down so you could kiss the fuzzy side of his undercut. “I love you very much too. And I really do like your haircut.”

“Yeah?” He ran a hand over his hair, looking a little bashful. “I know they always say you shouldn’t cut your hair right before the wedding, but I think it’s okay.”

You hadn’t even considered that he might have this cut for your early November wedding, but you liked the thought. Whatever he liked — that was what you’d like too.

Besides, it did look awfully good on him.

“I think it’s more than okay,” you said. “It’s very handsome.”

He smiled. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

You laughed. “It’s a little more than like , judging by all... this.” You and Josh usually preferred to make love in the comfort of your home, but some things called for a little risk. You supposed new haircuts were one of those things.

He chuckled and kissed you, gentle and sweet. “I love you, baby.”

You brushed your hand through his curls and kissed him back. “I love you too.”

gvf taglist: @gvfrry @ohhey1293 @the-chaotic-cow @mountain-in-springtime @xserenax-13 @stardustjtk @brooke-gvf @weightofdreams-gvf @serendipiti @jakeydoesit @gretasmokerising @loofypoofy @hayley1623 @doodle417 @finestoflines @brokenbellz @ria-gvf @s0livagant @katie-gvf @trplshotofdopamine @strugglingtodoshit @deadbeat-z @s-u-t @kay-jordan @gretavanfleas @jakeyboiiiiiii @gretavansteph @gretavanbitches @myownparadise96 @luverleaver @weightofdreamz @greatervanfleet @maedesculpaeusoubi @jakekiszkasbestie @pineapple-photographer @baguettejuliette @alexxavicry @levi-wants-ur-bones @josh-iamyour-mama @carlybubs

josh taglist: @prophetofthedune

fic taglist: @shutupdevvie @gotavansleep @mywaykiszka @chroniclesofperegrine @star-boxer @acb0116

sorry if tumblr didn’t tag you — it’s stupid sometimes. but i’m real thankful for you, sweet peaches! and if you’re a new bestie and would like to be added to my taglist, check it the form right here!

#hehe i hope you guys like it <3 #my meager contribution to the jullet fics <3 #josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka fanfiction #greta van fleet fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #josh kiszka smut #josh x baby #cabin fever fics #maddie writes stuff!

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brrmian · 1 year

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Hiya hun! So glad seeing you're back! (srsly when I saw the 500 Follower post I got so excited I almost screamed and its like,,, 2am here whoops) ANYWAY, CONGRATULATIONS ON 500 FOLLOWS!

Honestly, it's so deserved you are such a talented writer!

If I may, I have a bit of a more... complicated request (if its too much, just don't do it, it's all good!) but maybe a combination from the fluff list 19 and 21 and from the hurt/comfort list 45 with a sleep deprived/overworked Rex? and just reader and him being soft and comfy and cuddly and all the good warm stuff that our mans deserves :')

hi @phis-writing, thanks for the love!! i changed things up a bit but i really enjoyed writing this, so i hope u like it!

Rex + “Your hair is soft.” + “Can I rub your back?” + “When’s the last time you slept?” / prompts are closed!

The Resolute’s medbay is busy. Too busy.

Troopers, medics, and healers—like yourself—bustle past you, chattering and shouting and groaning in pain. It’s nothing like the Halls of Healing, where you were trained.

You stand next to Kix, armour-clad arms crossed over your light Jedi-issue robes. In front of you is a bacta tank, glowing blue and bubbling.

“He’ll be okay,” you say, more to assure yourself than Kix.

The medic nods. “He’s Fives,” Kix replies, as though that is answer enough. “He always pulls through.”

Before you can reply, the soft hiss of the medbay door opening sounds from behind you. Turning around, you frown when you see Rex, helmet tucked under one arm.

Something about him draws you into his gravitational field, like a planet to the star that it orbits. You know it’s unbecoming of a Jedi—but every time your paths cross, you feel yourself starting to care less and less about the rules.

It’s dangerous. He’s dangerous.

Normally, you’d be happy to see him. But as he approaches you, it doesn’t take long to notice the exhaustion on Rex’s face. Dirt stains one of his cheeks, his ice-blond hair isn’t buzzed short like it usually is, and stubble darkens his jaw.

This campaign had been long. The dark shadows underneath his eyes are enough for you to piece the story together: Rex, overworked and under-rested, is foregoing sleep to check on Fives and the rest of his troopers.

“You should be resting, Captain,” you say as Rex comes to stand in front of you.

“Yeah, well,” Kix says dryly, ignoring the glare Rex shoots his way, “so should everyone.”

In spite of yourself, you chuckle. “Right you are, Kix.” You put a hand on the medic’s shoulder. “Get some sleep—Helix and I will be here to watch over Fives and the others.”

At Kix’s doubtful look, Rex gives a nod of agreement. “The General’s right,” he says, and it’s then that you notice how gravelly his voice is. It’s hoarse with exhaustion.

Relenting, Kix nods, then gives you both a lazy salute. “Thanks, Captain. General.”

He leaves in a hurry, no doubt desperate to get some shuteye before the Resolute touches down on Coruscant. You turn to Rex and survey him with furrowed eyebrows.

The Captain speaks first. “When did you rendezvous with the fleet?” he asks. “I didn’t see Sparrow or any of the others.”

He’s referring to your commanding officer, Sparrow—a swift, sarcastic man whose armour is painted purple, grey, and white. He and the rest of the 299th Battalion are still with your own fleet, waiting for you on your starfighter.

“It’s just me, I’m afraid,” you say softly. “I was stationed nearby when General Skywalker commend me.” Turning to look at Fives, you shoot Rex a wan smile. “Don’t worry about him, Captain. Kix and I fixed him up just fine.”

Rex is staring at the floor. His shoulders are slumped.

“Rex…” you start, and take a step closer to him, putting a hand on his armoured shoulder. He looks up at you, expression questioning.

“General, I—”

“No need for formality.” You shake your head, hand not moving from his pauldron. “Rex, tell me the truth. When’s the last time you slept?”

Your question seems to give him pause. He’s avoiding eye contact; hesitantly, you move your hand from Rex’s shoulder to his chin, tilting his head so his gaze meets yours. His eyes are clouded.

“Not…” Rex sighs and reaches up to hold your wrist as your hand cups his cheek. “Not since before the campaign.”

You end up forcing Rex to his barracks. His shoulders are slumped, and as you punch in the code to his room, he stumbles over to his cot and sinks down with his head in his hands.

The door slides closed, bathing the small room in near-darkness. Slowly, you approach Rex, then sit down next to him. As you watch, he starts to remove his armour.

“Do you need help with that?” you ask, willing your hands not to shake.

Rex blinks at you. “Er, General—”

You feel your face heat up as you rush to correct yourself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—that was—I shouldn’t—”

Slowly, Rex blows out a tired sigh, and you stop. He smiles softly and then nods, making your chest feel tight and warm. Like you can’t breathe—but in a good way.

“Sure, General,” he says, voice still slightly hoarse. “Yeah, some help would be… nice.”

“Alright,” you reply, moving to unclip his blue shoulder pauldron. “Just…”

“What?”

You smirk. “Don’t call me General. I have a name, you know.”

Rex doesn’t answer. As you lean closer, frowning at the annoyingly stubborn armour clasps, you feel your hair—unruly, void of its once tightly-fastened bun—slip over your shoulder and fall over Rex’s neck and chest.

You feel a breath ruffle your hair and look up to meet Rex’s eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s fine,” Rex murmurs. He looks away and lowers his voice. “Your hair is… soft.”

Hurriedly, so as not to make Rex privy to how red your cheeks must be, you return to your task of removing his armour.

“Thank you,” you whisper, smiling in spite of yourself. By now, you’ve finished taking off his chest plate, vambraces, and the remainder of the upper portion of his armour. They lie discarded on the floor.

The soft touch of warm hands on your own makes you look up. Rex is removing your vambraces, the only armour you wear with your robes. His touch is surprisingly gentle.

He sets the vambraces aside, and you rub your wrists, then slip off your boots like Rex did. “Thank you,” you say again. It feels repetitive.

But you don’t know what else to say.

So you move closer and take Rex’s hand. He smiles softly, eyelids hooded with weariness. You feel your traitorous heart flutter.

“Would you…” Rex pauses, suddenly looking doubtful, but you squeeze his hand gently and he continues. “Would you like to stay?”

The silence wraps around the two of you like a blanket. You search Rex’s eyes—for what, you’re not sure—then nod slowly. As though your body isn’t your own, you lie down on one side, back against the wall. Rex follows suit, turning onto his side to face you, and you stay like that for a moment, facing each other.

Hesitantly, you reach out. Rex moves closer. You wonder if this is a dream.

“Go to sleep,” you whisper as Rex drapes an arm across your waist.

You tuck your face into his chest and wrap an arm around him. It’s so intimate it almost hurts—you’ve never been this close to someone in your life, and you doubt Rex has, either.

“You go to sleep,” Rex murmurs playfully, breath tickling the top of your head. You giggle softly, and had you been in anyone else’s arms, you would have felt silly.

But this is Rex. Rex, with his smug looks and soft laughs and honey-colored eyes.

It seems impossible, but you move closer. Rex’s arm, still draped over your waist, moves slowly; his hand snakes towards the small of your back and you shiver.

“Sorry,” he whispers, removing his hand.

“No, it’s fine,” you breathe.

“Can I…” Rex moves his hand back to where it was before, only now his palm is splayed across the thin fabric of your tunic. “Can I rub your back?”

Eyes drifting closed, you huff out a quiet laugh. “Only if it helps you fall asleep.”

(Truthfully, you want to scream yes, please do, want to grab his hands and hold tight and never let go. But you continue playing the role of placid Jedi General.)

The feeling of Rex’s touch, even through your tunic, is impossibly soothing. You tighten your hold around his waist and gently press your other hand against his chest. His blacks are thin and he radiates warmth.

You drift off within seconds. Rex’s touch on your back never wavers.

#honestly might expand on this pairing more #in this house we break the jedi code #sleepy rex is the best rex!!!!!#i dunno if i wrote him sleepy enough tho….#captain rex x jedi!reader #captain rex x you #captain rex x reader #captain rex x reader fluff #500 followers for vizslasaber!#captain rex #tcw reader #swtcw fanfic #swtcw #star wars the clone wars #old writing

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